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'-ODER    TORE    THE    TELEGRAM    OPEN  " 


THE 

MASQUERADER 


B  tflovel 


BY 


KATHERINE  CECIL   THURSTON 

AUTHOR  OF  "  THE  CIRCLE  "  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW   YORK  AND    LONDON 

HARPER  &   BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS 

1905 


Copyright,  1904,  by  Harphr  &  Brothers. 

All  rights  reserved. 
Published  October,  1904. 


TO   THE    MEMORY    OF 
MY  FATHER 


i. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

LODER   TORE    THE    TELEGRAM    OPEN" Frontispiect 

'"FOR    A     SECOND     EACH     STARED     BLANKLY     AT    THE 

OTHER'S    FACE" Facing  p.   IO 

"'won't    YOU   SIT   DOWN?'    HE   SAID  again"  ..."  84 

"AS    LILLIAN    CAME    CLOSER,    THE    MEANING    OF    HER 

MANNER  BECAME  CLEARER  TO  HIM "  ....  "  156 
"LILLIAN  SLID  GENTLY  TO  HER  KNEES "  ....  "  2l8 
"'i  THOUGHT  IT  WOULD  BE  YOU,'  SHE  SAID*'  .  .  "  274 
"'HOW  DOES  IT  FEEL  TO  BE  A  GREAT  MAN?'".  .  "  282 
THIS    IS    MR.    CHILCOTE,    MARY*" "        288 


i<  < 


THE     MASQUERADER 


TWO  incidents,  widely  different  in  character  yet 
bound  together  by  results,  marked  the  night  of 
January  the  twenty-third.  On  that  night  the  blackest 
fog  within  a  four  years'  memory  fell  upon  certain 
portions  of  London,  and  also  on  that  night  came  the 
first  announcement  of  the  border  risings  against  the 
Persian  government  in  the  province  of  Khorasan — 
the  announcement  that,  speculated  upon,  even  smiled 
at,  at  the  time,  assumed  such  significance  in  the  light 
of  after  events. 

At  eight  o'clock  the  news  spread  through  the  House 
of  Commons ;  but  at  nine  men  in  the  inner  lobbies  were 
gossiping,  not  so  much  upon  how  far  Russia,  while 
ostensibly  upholding  the  Shah,  had  pulled  the  strings 
by  which  the  insurgents  danced,  as  upon  the  manner 
in  which  the  St.  George's  Gazette,  the  Tory  evening 
newspaper,  had  seized  upon  the  incident  and  shaken 
it  in  the  faces  of  the  government. 

More  than  once  before,  Lakely  —  the  owner  and 
editor  of  the  St.  George's — had  stepped  outside  the 
decorous  circle  of  tradition  and  taken  a  plunge  into 
modern  journalism,  but  to-night  he  essayed  deeper 


THE    MASQUERADER 

waters  than  before,  and  under  an  almost  sensational 
heading  declared  that  in  this  apparently  innocent 
border  rising  we  had  less  an  outcome  of  mere  racial 
antagonism  than  a  first  faint  index  of  a  long-cherished 
Russian  scheme,  growing  to  a  gradual  maturity  under 
the  "drift"  policy  of  the  present  British  government. 

The  effect  produced  by  this  pronouncement,  if  strong, 
was  varied.  Members  of  the  Opposition  saw,  or 
thought  they  saw,  a  reflection  of  it  in  the  smiling  un- 
concern on  the  Ministerial  benches;  and  the  govern- 
ment had  an  uneasy  sense  that  behind  the  newly 
kindled  interest  on  the  other  side  of  the  House  lay  some 
mysterious  scenting  of  battle  from  afar  off.  But 
though  these  impressions  ran  like  electricity  through 
the  atmosphere,  nothing  tangible  marked  their  passage, 
and  the  ordinary  business  of  the  House  proceeded  until 
half-past  eleven,  when  an  adjournment  was  moved. 

The  first  man  to  hurry  from  his  place  was  John 
Chilcote,  member  for  East  Wark.  He  passed  out  of 
the  House  quickly,  with  the  half-furtive  quickness  that 
marks  a  self-absorbed  man;  and  as  he  passed  the  police- 
man standing  stolidly  under  the  arched  door-way  of 
the  big  court-yard  he  swerved  a  little,  as  if  startled  out 
of  his  thoughts.  He  realized  his  swerve  almost  before 
it  was  accomplished,  and  pulled  himself  together  with 
nervous  irritability. 

"Foggy  night,  constable!"  he  said,  with  elaborate 
carelessness. 

"Foggy  night,  sir,  and  thickening  up  west,"  re- 
sponded the  man. 

"Ah,  indeed!"  Chilcote's  answer  was  absent.  The 
constable's  cheery  voice  jarred  on  him,  and  for  the 
second  time  he  was  conscious  of  senseless  irritation. 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Without  a  further  glance  at  the  man,  he  slipped  out 
into  the  court-yard  and  turned  towards  the  main  gate. 

At  the  gate-way  two  cab  lamps  showed  through  the 
mist  of  shifting  fog  like  the  eyes  of  a  great  cat,  and 
the  familiar  "Hansom,  sir?"  came  to  him  indistinctly. 

He  paused  by  force  of  custom;  and,  stepping  forward, 
had  almost  touched  the  open  door  when  a  new  impulse 
caused  him  to  draw  back. 

"No,"  he  said,  hurriedly.     "No.     I'll  walk." 

The  cabman  muttered,  lashed  his  horse,  and  with  a 
clatter  of  hoofs  and  harness  wheeled  away;  while 
Chilcote,  still  with  uncertain  hastiness,  crossed  the 
road  in  the  direction  of  Whitehall. 

About  the  Abbey  the  fog  had  partially  lifted,  and 
in  the  railed  garden  that  faces  the  Houses  of  Parliament 
the  statues  were  visible  in  a  spectral  way.  But  Chil- 
cote's  glance  was  unstable  and  indifferent ;  he  skirted 
the  railings  heedlessly,  and,  crossing  the  road  with  the 
speed  of  long  familiarity,  gained  Whitehall  on  the  left- 
hand  side. 

There  the  fog  had  dropped,  and,  looking  upward 
towards  Trafalgar  Square,  it  seemed  that  the  chain  of 
lamps  extended  little  farther  than  the  Horse  Guards, 
and  that  beyond  lay  nothing. 

Unconscious  of  this  capricious  alternation  between 
darkness  and  light,  Chilcote  continued  his  course.  To 
a  close  observer  the  manner  of  his  going  had  both 
interest  and  suggestion  ;  for  though  he  walked  on, 
apparently  self-engrossed,  yet  at  every  dozen  steps 
he  started  at  some  sound  or  some  touch,  like  a  man 
whose  nervous  system  is  painfully  overstrung. 

Maintaining  his  haste,  he  went  deliberately  forward, 
oblivious  of  the  fact  that  at  each  step  the  curtain  of 

3 


THE    MASQUERADER 

darkness  about  him  became  closer,  damper,  more 
tangible;  that  at  each  second  the  passers-by  jostled 
each  other  with  greater  frequency.  Then,  abruptly, 
with  a  sudden  realization  of  what  had  happened, 
he  stood  quite  still.  Without  anticipation  or  prepara- 
tion he  had  walked  full  into  the  thickness  of  the  fog 
— a  thickness  so  dense  that,  as  by  an  enchanter's  wand, 
the  figures  of  a  moment  before  melted,  the  street 
lamps  were  sucked  up  into  the  night. 

His  first  feeling  was  a  sense  of  panic  at  the  sudden 
isolation,  his  second  a  thrill  of  nervous  apprehension 
at  the  oblivion  that  had  allowed  him  to  be  so  entrapped. 
The  second  feeling  outweighed  the  first.  He  moved 
forward,  then  paused  again,  uncertain  of  himself. 
Finally,  with  the  consciousness  that  inaction  was  un- 
bearable, he  moved  on  once  more,  his  eyes  wide  open, 
one  hand  thrust  out  as  a  protection  and  guide. 

The  fog  had  closed  in  behind  him  as  heavily  as  in 
front,  shutting  off  all  possibility  of  retreat;  all  about 
him  in  the  darkness  was  a  confusion  of  voices — cheerful, 
dubious,  alarmed,  or  angry;  now  and  then  a  sleeve 
brushed  his  or  a  hand  touched  him  tentatively.  It 
was  a  strange  moment,  a  moment  of  possibilities,  to 
which  the  crunching  wheels,  the  oaths  and  laughter 
from  the  blocked  traffic  of  the  road-way,  made  a  con- 
tinuous accompaniment. 

Keeping  well  to  the  left,  Chilcote  still  beat  on;  there 
was  a  persistence  in  his  movements  that  almost  amount- 
ed to  fear — a  fear  born  of  the  solitude  filled  with  in- 
numerable sounds.  For  a  space  he  groped  about  him 
without  result,  then  his  fingers  touched  the  cold  surface 
of  a  shuttered  shop-front,  and  a  thrill  of  reassurance 
passed  through  him.     With  renewed  haste,  and  cling- 

4 


THE   MASQUERADER 

ing  to  his  landmark  as  a  blind  man  might,  he  started 
forward  with  fresh  impetus. 

For  a  dozen  paces  he  moved  rapidly  and  unevenly, 
then  the  natural  result  occurred.  He  collided  with  a 
man  coming  in  the  opposite  direction. 

The  shock  was  abrupt.  Both  men  swore  simultane- 
ously, then  both  laughed.  The  whole  thing  was  casual, 
but  Chilcote  was  in  that  state  of  mind  when  even  the 
commonplace  becomes  abnormal.  The  other  man's 
exclamation,  the  other  man's  laugh,  struck  on  his 
nerves;  coming  out  of  the  darkness,  they  sounded  like 
a  repetition  of  his  own. 

Nine  out  of  every  ten  men  in  London,  given  the 
same  social  position  and  the  same  education,  might 
reasonably  be  expected  to  express  annoyance  or  amuse- 
ment in  the  same  manner,  possibly  in  the  same  tone 
of  voice;  and  Chilcote  remembered  this  almost  at  the 
moment  of  his  nervous  jar. 

"Beastly  fog!"  he  said,  aloud.  "I'm  trying  to  find 
Grosvenor  Square,  but  the  chances  seem  rather 
small." 

The  other  laughed  again,  and  again  the  laugh  upset 
Chilcote.  He  wondered  uncomfortably  if  he  was  be- 
coming a  prey  to  illusions.  But  the  stranger  spoke 
before  the  question  had  solved  itself. 

"I'm  afraid  they  are  small,"  he  said.  "It  would 
be  almost  hard  to  find  one's  way  to  the  devil  on  a  night 
like  this." 

Chilcote  made  a  murmur  of  amusement  and  drew 
back  against  the  shop. 

"Yes.  We  can  see  now  where  the  blind  man  scores 
in  the  matter  of  salvation.  This  is  almost  a  repetition 
of  the  fog  of  six  years  ago.     Were  you  out  in  that?" 

5 


THE    MASQUERADER 

It  was  a  habit  of  his  to  jump  from  one  sentence  to  an- 
other, a  habit  that  had  grown  of  late. 

"  No."  The  stranger  had  also  groped  his  way  to  the 
shop-front.     "  No,  I  was  out  of  England  six  years  ago." 

"You  were  lucky."  Chilcote  turned  up  the  collar 
of  his  coat.  "  It  was  an  atrocious  fog,  as  black  as  this, 
but  more  universal.  I  remember  it  well.  It  was  the 
night  Lexington  made  his  great  sugar  speech.  Some 
of  us  were  found  on  Lambeth  Bridge  at  three  in  the 
morning,  having  left  the  House  at  twelve." 

Chilcote  seldom  indulged  in  reminiscences,  but  this 
conversation  with  an  unseen  companion  was  more  like 
a  soliloquy  than  a  dialogue.  He  was  almost  surprised 
into  an  exclamation  when  the  other  caught  up  his 

words. 

"Ah!  The  sugar  speech!"  he  said.  "Odd  that  I 
should  have  been  looking  it  up  only  yesterday.  What 
a  magnificent  dressing-up  of  a  dry  subject  it  was! 
What  a  career  Lexington  promised  in  those  days!" 

Chilcote  changed  his  position. 

"You  are  interested  in  the  muddle  down  at  West- 
minster?" he  asked,  sarcastically. 

"  i__?"  It  was  the  turn  of  the  stranger  to  draw  back 
a  step.  "Oh,  I  read  my  newspaper  with  the  other 
five  million,  that  is  all.  I  am  an  outsider."  His  voice 
sounded  curt ;  the  warmth  that  admiration  had  brought 
into  it  a  moment  before  had  frozen  abruptly. 

"An  outsider!"  Chilcote  repeated.  'What  an  en- 
viable word!" 

"  Possibly,  to  those  who  are  well  inside  the  ring.  But 
let  us  go  back  to  Lexington.  What  a  pinnacle  the  man 
reached,  and  what  a  drop  he  had!  It  has  always  seem- 
ed to  me  an  extraordinary  instance  of  the  human 

6 


THE    MASQUERADER 

leaven  running  through  us  all.  What  was  the  real 
cause  of  his  collapse?"  he  asked,  suddenly.  "Was  it 
drugs  or  drink?    I  have  often  wished  to  get  at  the  truth." 

Again  Chilcote  changed  his  attitude. 

"Is  truth  ever  worth  getting  at?"  he  asked,  ir- 
relevantly. 

"In  the  case  of  a  public  man — yes.  He  exchanges 
his  privacy  for  the  interest  of  the  masses.  If  he  gives 
the  masses  the  details  of  his  success,  why  not  the  de- 
tails of  his  failure?  But  was  it  drink  that  sucked  him 
under?" 

"No."     Chilcote's  response  came  after  a  pause. 

"Drugs?" 

Again  Chilcote  hesitated.  And  at  the  moment  of  his 
indecision  a  woman  brushed  past  him,  laughing  boister- 
ously.    The  sound  jarred  him. 

"Was  it  drugs?"  the  stranger  went  on  easily.  "I 
have  always  had  a  theory  that  it  was." 

"Yes.  It  was  morphia."  The  answer  came  before 
Chilcote  had  realized  it.  The  woman's  laugh  at  the 
stranger's  quiet  persistence  had  contrived  to  draw  it 
from  him.  Instantly  he  had  spoken  he  looked  about 
him  quickly,  like  one  who  has  for  a  moment  forgotten 
a  necessary  vigilance. 

There  was  silence  while  the  stranger  thought  over 
the  information  just  given  him.  Then  he  spoke  again, 
with  a  new  touch  of  vehemence. 

"So  I  imagined,"  he  said.  "Though,  on  my  soul,  I 
never  really  credited  it.  To  have  gained  so  much,  and 
to  have  thrown  it  away  for  a  common  vice!"  He 
made  an  exclamation  of  disgust. 

Chilcote  gave  an  unsteady  laugh.  "You  judge 
hardly,"  he  said. 

7 


THE    MASQUERADER 

The  other  repeated  his  sound  of  contempt.  "Justly 
so.  No  man  has  the  right  to  squander  what  another 
would  give  his  soul  for.  It  lessens  the  general  respect 
for  power." 

"You  are  a  believer  in  power?"  The  tone  was 
sarcastic,  but  the  sarcasm  sounded  thin. 

"Yes.  All  power  is  the  outcome  of  individuality, 
either  past  or  present.  I  find  no  sentiment  for  the 
man  who  plays  with  it." 

The  quiet  contempt  of  the  tone  stung  Chilcote. 

"  Do  you  imagine  that  Lexington  made  no  fight  ?"  he 
asked,  impulsively.  "Can't  you  picture  the  man's 
struggle  while  the  vice  that  had  been  slave  gradually 
became  master?"  He  stopped  to  take  breath,  and  in 
the  cold  pause  that  followed  it  seemed  to  him  that  the 
other  made  a  murmur  of  incredulity. 

"Perhaps  you  think  of  morphia  as  a  pleasure?"  he 
added.  "Think  of  it,  instead,  as  a  tyrant — that  tort- 
ures the  mind  if  held  to,  and  the  body  if  cast  off." 
Urged  by  the  darkness  and  the  silence  of  his  compan- 
ion, the  rein  of  his  speech  had  loosened.  In  that  mo- 
ment he  was  not  Chilcote  the  member  for  East  Wark, 
whose  moods  and  silences  were  proverbial,  but  Chil- 
cote the  man  whose  mind  craved  the  relief  of  speech. 

"You  talk  as  the  world  talks — out  of  ignorance  and 
self -righteousness,"  he  went  on.  "Before  you  con- 
demn Lexington  you  should  put  yourself  in  his  place — " 

"As  you  do?"  the  other  laughed. 

Unsuspecting  and  inoffensive  as  the  laugh  was,  it 
startled  Chilcote.  With  a  sudden  alarm  he  pulled 
himself  up. 

"  I—  ?"  He  tried  to  echo  the  laugh,  but  the  attempt 
fell  flat.     "Oh,  I  merely  speak  from — from  De  Quincey. 

8 


THE    MASQUERADER 

But  I  believe  this  fog  is  shifting — I  really  believe  it  is 
shifting.  Can  you  oblige  me  with  a  light  ?  I  had  al- 
most forgotten  that  a  man  may  still  smoke  though  he 
has  been  deprived  of  sight."  He  spoke  fast  and  dis- 
jointedly.  He  was  overwhelmed  by  the  idea  that  he 
had  let  himself  go,  and  possessed  by  the  wish  to  ob- 
literate the  consequences.  As  he  talked  he  fumbled 
for  his  cigarette-case. 

His  head  was  bent  as  he  searched  for  it  nervously. 
Without  looking  up,  he  was  conscious  that  the  cloud 
of  fog  that  held  him  prisoner  was  lifting,  rolling  away, 
closing  back  again,  preparatory  to  final  disappearance. 
Having  found  the  case,  he  put  a  cigarette  between  his 
lips  and  raised  his  hand  at  the  moment  that  the  stranger 
drew  a  match  across  his  box. 

For  a  second  each  stared  blankly  at  the  other's  face, 
suddenly  made  visible  by  the  lifting  of  the  fog.  The 
match  in  the  stranger's  hand  burned  down  till  it  scorch- 
ed his  fingers,  and,  feeling  the  pain,  he  laughed  and  let 
it  drop. 

"Of  all  odd  things!"  he  said.  Then  he  broke  off. 
The  circumstance  was  too  novel  for  ordinary  remark. 

By  one  of  those  rare  occurrences,  those  chances  that 
seem  too  wild  for  real  life  and  yet  belong  to  no  other 
sphere,  the  two  faces  so  strangely  hidden  and  strangely 
revealed  were  identical,  feature  for  feature.  It  seemed 
to  each  man  that  he  looked  not  at  the  face  of  another, 
but  at  his  own  face  reflected  in  a  flawless  looking- 
glass. 

Of  the  two,  the  stranger  was  the  first  to  regain  self- 
possession.  Seeing  Chilcote's  bewilderment,  he  came 
to  his  rescue  with  brusque  tactfulness. 

"The  position  is  decidedly  odd,"  he  said.     "But, 
•  Q 


THE    MASQUERADER 

after  all,  why  should  we  be  so  surprised  ?  Nature  can't 
be  eternally  original;  she  must  dry  up  sometimes,  and 
when  she  gets  a  good  model  why  shouldn't  she  use  it 
twice?"  He  drew  back,  surveying  Chilcote  whimsi- 
cally. "  But,  pardon  me,  you  are  still  waiting  for  that 
light!" 

Chilcote  still  held  the  cigarette  between  his  lips. 
The  paper  had  become  dry,  and  he  moistened  it  as  he 
leaned  towards  his  companion. 

"Don't  mind  me,"  he  said.  "I'm  rather — rather 
unstrung  to-night,  and  this  thing  gave  me  a  jar.  To 
be  candid,  my  imagination  took  head  in  the  fog,  and  I 
got  to  fancy  I  was  talking  to  myself — " 

"And  pulled  up  to  find  the  fancy  in  some  way 
real?" 

"Yes.     Something  like  that." 

Both  were  silent  for  a  moment.  Chilcote  pulled 
hard  at  his  cigarette,  then,  remembering  his  obliga- 
tions, he  turned  quickly  to  the  other. 

"Won't  you  smoke?"  he  asked. 

The  stranger  accepted  a  cigarette  from  the  case  held 
out  to  him;  and  as  he  did  so  the  extraordinary  likeness 
to  himself  struck  Chilcote  with  added  force.  Involun- 
tarily he  put  out  his  hand  and  touched  the  other's 
arm. 

"It's  my  nerves!"  he  said,  in  explanation.  "They 
make  me  want  to  feel  that  you  are  substantial.  Nerves 
play  such  beastly  tricks!"     He  laughed  awkwardly. 

The  other  glanced  up.  His  expression  on  the  mo- 
ment was  slightly  surprised,  slightly  contemptuous, 
but  he  changed  it  instantly  to  conventional  interest. 
"I  am  afraid  I  am  not  an  authority  on  nerves,"  he 
said. 

10 


"for  a  second  each  stared  blankly  at  the  other  s  face 


THE    MASQUERADER 

But  Chilcote  was  preoccupied.  His  thoughts  had 
turned  into  another  channel. 

"How  old  are  you?"  he  asked,  suddenly. 

The  other  did  not  answer  immediately.  "My  age ?" 
he  said  at  last,  slowly.  "Oh,  I  believe  I  shall  be  thirty- 
six  to-morrow — to  be  quite  accurate." 

Chilcote  lifted  his  head  quickly. 

"Why  do  you  use  that  tone ?"  he  asked.  " I  am  six 
months  older  than  you,  and  I  only  wish  it  was  six 
years.     Six  years  nearer  oblivion — " 

Again  a  slight  incredulous  contempt  crossed  the 
other's  eyes.  "Oblivion  ?"  he  said.  "Where  are  your 
ambitions?" 

"They  don't  exist." 

"Don't  exist?  Yet  you  voice  your  country?  I 
concluded  that  much  in  the  fog." 

Chilcote  laughed  sarcastically. 

"When  one  has  voiced  one's  country  for  six  years 
one  gets  hoarse — it's  a  natural  consequence." 

The  other  smiled.  "  Ah,  discontent !"  he  said.  "  The 
modern  canker.  But  we  must  both  be  getting  under 
way.  Good-night!  Shall  we  shake  hands — to  prove 
that  we  are  genuinely  material?" 

Chilcote  had  been  standing  unusually  still,  following 
the  stranger's  words — caught  by  his  self-reliance  and 
impressed  by  his  personality.  Now,  as  he  ceased  to 
speak,  he  moved  quickly  forward,  impelled  by  a  ner- 
vous curiosity. 

"  Why  should  we  just  hail  each  other  and  pass — like 
the  proverbial  ships  ?"  he  said,  impulsively.  "  If  Nature 
was  careless  enough  to  let  the  reproduction  meet  the 
original,  she  must  abide  the  consequences." 

The  other  laughed,  but  his  laugh  was  short.     "  Oh,  I 

ii 


THE    MASQUERADER 

don't  know.  Our  roads  lie  differently.  You  would 
get  nothing  out  of  me,  and  I — "  He  stopped  and  again 
laughed  shortly.  "No,"  he  said;  "I'd  be  content  to 
pass,  if  I  were  you.  The  unsuccessful  man  is  seldom 
a  profitable  study.     Shall  we  say  good-night?" 

He  took  Chilcote's  hand  for  an  instant;  then,  crossing 
the  foot-path,  he  passed  into  the  road-way  towards  the 
Strand. 

It  was  done  in  a  moment;  but  with  his  going  a  sense 
of  loss  fell  upon  Chilcote.  He  stood  for  a  space,  newly 
conscious  of  unfamiliar  faces  and  unfamiliar  voices  in 
the  stream  of  passers-by;  then,  suddenly  mastered  by 
an  impulse,  he  wheeled  rapidly  and  darted  after  the 
tall,  lean  figure  so  ridiculously  like  his  own. 

Half-way  across  Trafalgar  Square  he  overtook  the 
stranger.  He  had  paused  on  one  of  the  small  stone 
islands  that  break  the  current  of  traffic,  and  was  wait- 
ing for  an  opportunity  to  cross  the  street.  In  the  glare 
of  light  from  the  lamp  above  his  head,  Chilcote  saw  for 
the  first  time  that,  under  a  remarkable  neatness  of  ap- 
pearance, his  clothes  were  well  worn — almost  shabby. 
The  discovery  struck  him  with  something  stronger  than 
surprise.  The  idea  of  poverty  seemed  incongruous  in 
connection  with  the  reliance,  the  reserve,  the  personal- 
ity of  the  man.  With  a  certain  embarrassed  haste  he 
stepped  forward  and  touched  his  arm. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  as  the  other  turned  quietly. 
"I  have  followed  you  to  exchange  cards.  It  can't  in- 
jure either  of  us,  and  I — I  have  a  wish  to  know  my 
other  self."  He  laughed  nervously  as  he  drew  out  his 
card-case. 

The  stranger  watched  him  in  silence.  There  was  the 
same  faint  contempt,  but  also  there  was  a  reluctant  in- 

12 


THE    MASQUERADER 

terest  in  his  glance,  as  it  passed  from  the  fingers  fum- 
bling with  the  case  to  the  pale  face  with  the  square  jaw, 
straight  mouth,  and  level  eyebrows  drawn  low  over  the 
gray  eyes.  When  at  last  the  card  was  held  out  to  him 
he  took  it  without  remark  and  slipped  it  into  his  pocket. 

Chilcote  looked  at  him  eagerly.  "Now  the  ex- 
change?" he  said. 

For  a  second  the  stranger  did  not  respond.  Then, 
almost  unexpectedly,  he  smiled. 

"After  all,  if  it  amuses  you — "  he  said;  and,  search- 
ing in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  he  drew  out  the  required 
card. 

"It  will  leave  you  quite  unenlightened,"  he  added. 
"The  name  of  a  failure  never  spells  anything."  With 
another  smile,  partly  amused,  partly  ironical,  he 
stepped  from  the  little  island  and  disappeared  into  the 
throng  of  traffic. 

Chilcote  stood  for  an  instant  gazing  at  the  point 
where  he  had  vanished;  then,  turning  to  the  lamp,  he 
lifted  the  card  and  read  the  name  it  bore:  "Mr.  John 
Loder,  13  Clifford's  Inn." 


II 

ON  the  morning  following  the  night  of  fog  Chilcote 
woke  at  nine.  He  woke  at  the  moment  that  his 
man  Allsopp  tiptoed  across  the  room  and  laid  the  salver 
with  his  early  cup  of  tea  on  the  table  beside  the  bed. 

For  several '  seconds  he  lay  with  his  eyes  shut ;  the 
effort  of  opening  them  on  a  fresh  day — the  intimate  cer- 
tainty of  what  he  would  see  on  opening  them — seemed 
to  weight  his  lids.  The  heavy,  half-closed  curtains; 
the  blinds  severely  drawn ;  the  great  room  with  its  splen- 
did furniture,  its  sober  coloring,  its  scent  of  damp 
London  winter;  above  all,  Allsopp,  silent,  respectful, 
and  respectable — were  things  to  dread. 

A  full  minute  passed  while  he  still  feigned  sleep.  He 
heard  Allsopp  stir  discreetly,  then  the  inevitable  in- 
formation broke  the  silence: 

"Nine  o'clock,  sir!" 

He  opened  his  eyes,  murmured  something,  and  closed 
them  again. 

The  man  moved  to  the  window,  quietly  pulled  back 
the  curtains  and  half  drew  the  blind. 

"Better  night,  sir,  I  hope?"  he  ventured,  softly. 

Chilcote  had  drawn  the  bedclothes  over  his  face  to 
screen  himself  from  the  daylight,  murky  though  it 
was. 

'Yes,"  he  responded.     "Those  beastly  nightmares 
didn't  trouble  me,  for  once."     He  shivered  a  little  as 

14 


THE    MASQUERADER 

at  some  recollection.  "But  don't  talk — don't  remind 
me  of  them.  I  hate  a  man  who  has  no  originality." 
He  spoke  sharply.  At  times  he  showed  an  almost 
childish  irritation  over  trivial  things. 

Allsopp  took  the  remark  in  silence.  Crossing  the 
wide  room,  he  began  to  lay  out  his  master's  clothes. 
The  action  affected  Chilcote  to  fresh  annoyance. 

"Confound  it!"  he  said.  "I'm  sick  of  that  routine. 
I  can  see  you  laying  out  my  winding-sheet  the  day  of 
my  burial.  Leave  those  things.  Come  back  in  half 
an  hour." 

Allsopp  allowed  himself  one  glance  at  his  master's 
figure  huddled  in  the  great  bed;  then,  laying  aside  the 
coat  he  was  holding,  he  moved  to  the  door.  With  his 
fingers  on  the  handle  he  paused. 

"  Will  you  breakfast  in  your  own  room,  sir — or  down- 
stairs?" 

Chilcote  drew  the  clothes  more  tightly  round  his 
shoulders.  "Oh,  anywhere — nowhere!"  he  said.  "I 
don't  care." 

Allsopp  softly  withdrew. 

Left  to  himself,  Chilcote  sat  up  in  bed  and  lifted  the 
salver  to  his  knees.  The  sudden  movement  jarred 
him  physically;  he  drew  a  handkerchief  from  under 
the  pillow  and  wiped  his  forehead;  then  he  held  his 
hand  to  the  light  and  studied  it.  The  hand  looked 
sallow  and  unsteady.  With  a  nervous  gesture  he 
thrust  the  salver  back  upon  the  table  and  slid  out  of 
bed. 

Moving  hastily  across  the  room,  he  stopped  before 
one  of  the  tall  wardrobes  and  swung  the  door  open ;  then 
after  a  furtive  glance  around  the  room  he  thrust  his 
hand  into  the  recesses  of  a  shelf  and  fumbled  there. 

15 


THE    MASQUERADER 

The  thing  he  sought  was  evidently  not  hard  to  find, 
for  almost  at  once  he  withdrew  his  hand  and  moved 
from  the  wardrobe  to  a  table  beside  the  fireplace,  car- 
rying a  small  glass  tube  filled  with  tabloids. 

On  the  table  were  a  decanter,  a  siphon,  and  a  water- 
jug.  Mixing  some  whiskey,  he  uncorked  the  tube, 
again  he  glanced  apprehensively  towards  the  door,  then 
with  a  very  nervous  hand  dropped  two  tabloids  into  the 
glass. 

While  they  dissolved  he  stood  with  his  hand  on  the 
table  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor,  evidently  restrain- 
ing his  impatience.  Instantly  they  had  disappeared 
he  seized  the  glass  and  drained  it  at  a  draught,  replaced 
the  bottle  in  the  wardrobe,  and,  shivering  slightly 
in  the  raw  air,  slipped  back  into  bed. 

When  Allsopp  returned  he  was  sitting  up,  a  cigarette 
between  his  lips,  the  teacup  standing  empty  on  the 
salver.  The  nervous  irritability  had  gone  from  his 
manner.-  He  no  longer  moved  jerkily,  his  eyes  looked 
brighter,  his  pale  skin  more  healthy. 

"Ah,  Allsopp,"  he  said,  "there  are  some  moments  in 
life,  after  all.     It  isn't  all  blank  wall." 

"I  ordered  breakfast  in  the  small  morning-room, 
sir,"  said  Allsopp,  without  a  change  of  expression. 

Chilcote  breakfasted  at  ten.  His  appetite,  always 
fickle,  was  particularly  uncertain  in  the  early  hours. 
He  helped  himself  to  some  fish,  but  sent  away  his  plate 
untouched;  then,  having  drunk  two  cups  of  tea,  he 
pushed  back  his  chair,  lighted  a  fresh  cigarette,  and 
shook  out  the  morning's  newspaper. 

Twice  he  shook  it  out  and  twice  turned  it,  but  thp 
reluctance  to  fix  his  mind  upon  it  made  him  dally. 

16 


THE    MASQUERADER 

The  effect  of  the  morphia  tabloids  was  still  apparent  in 
the  greater  steadiness  of  his  hand  and  eye,  the  regained 
quiet  of  his  susceptibilities,  but  the  respite  was  tem- 
porary and  lethargic.  The  early  days — the  days  of 
six  years  ago,  when  these  tabloids  meant  an  even  sweep 
of  thought,  lucidity  of  brain,  a  balance  of  judgment  in 
thought  and  effort — were  days  of  the  past.  As  he  had 
said  of  Lexington  and  his  vice,  the  slave  had  become 
master. 

As  he  folded  the  paper  in  a  last  attempt  at  interest, 
the  door  opened  and  his  secretary  came  a  step  or  two 
into  the  room. 

"Good-morning,  sir!"  he  said.  "Forgive  me  for 
being  so  untimely." 

He  was  a  fresh-mannered,  bright-eyed  boy  of  twenty- 
three.  His  breezy  alertness,  his  deference,  as  to  a  man 
who  had  attained  what  he  aspired  to,  amused  and  de- 
pressed Chilcote  by  turns. 

"Good-morning,  Blessington.  What  is  it  now?" 
He  sighed  through  habit,  and,  putting  up  his  hand, 
warded  off  a  ray  of  sun  that  had  forced  itself  through 
the  misty  atmosphere  as  if  by  mistake. 

The  boy  smiled.  "It's  that  business  of  the  Wark 
timber  contract,  sir,"  he  said.  "You  promised  you'd 
look  into  it  to-day;  you  know  you've  shelved  it  for  a 
week  already,  and  Craig,  Burnage  are  rather  clamoring 
for  an  answer."  He  moved  forward  and  laid  the 
papers  he  was  carrying  on  the  table  beside  Chilcote. 
"I'm  sorry  to  be  such  a  nuisance,"  he  added.  "I  hope 
your  nerves  aren't  worrying  you  to-day?" 

Chilcote  was  toying  with  the  papers.  At  the  word 
nerves  he  glanced  up  suspiciously.  But  Blessington's 
ingenuous  face  satisfied  him. 

i7 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  I  settled  my  nerves  last  night  with 
— with  a  bromide.  I  knew  that  fog  would  upset  me 
unless  I  took  precautions." 

"I'm  glad  of  that,  $ir — though  I'd  avoid  bromides. 
Bad  habit  to  set  up.  But  this  Wark  business — I'd 
like  to  get  it  under  way,  if  you  have  no  objection." 

Chilcote  passed  his  fingers  over  the  papers.  "Were 
you  out  in  that  fog  last  night,  Blessington?" 

"No,  sir.  I  supped  with  some  people  at  the  Savoy, 
and  we  just  missed  it.  It  was  very  partial,  I  be- 
lieve." 

"So  I  believe." 

Blessington  put  his  hand  to  his  neat  tie  and  pulled  it. 
He  was  extremely  polite,  but  he  had  an  inordinate 
sense  of  duty. 

"  Forgive  me,  sir,"  he  said,  "but  about  that  contract 
— I  know  I'm  a  frightful  bore." 

"Oh,  the  contract!"  Chilcote  looked  about  him  ab- 
sently. "  By-the-way,  did  you  see  anything  of  my  wife 
yesterday?     What  did  she  do  last  night?" 

"Mrs.  Chilcote  gave  me  tea  yesterday  afternoon. 
She  told  me  she  was  dining  at  Lady  Sabinet's,  and 
looking  in  at  one  or  two  places  later."  He  eyed  his 
papers  in  Chilcote's  listless  hand. 

Chilcote  smiled  satirically.  "Eve  is  very  true  to 
society,"  he  said.  "I  couldn't  dine  at  the  Sabinets'  if 
it  was  to  make  me  premier.  They  have  a  butler  who 
is  an  institution — a  sort  of  heirloom  in  the  family.  He 
is  fat,  and  breathes  audibly.  Last  time  I  lunched  there 
he  haunted  me  for  a  whole  night." 

Blessington  laughed  gayly.  "Mrs.  Chilcote  doesn't 
see  ghosts,  sir,"  he  said;  "but  if  I  may  suggest — " 

Chilcote  tapped  his  fingers  on  the  table. 

18 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"No.  Eve  doesn't  see  ghosts.  We  rather  miss 
sympathy  there." 

Blessington  governed  his  impatience.  He  stood  still 
for  some  seconds,  then  glanced  down  at  his  pointed 
boot. 

"  If  you  will  be  lenient  to  my  persistency,  sir,  I  would 
like  to  remind  you — " 

Chilcote  lifted  his  head  with  a  flash  of  irritability. 

"Confound  it,  Blessington!"  he  exclaimed.  "Am  I 
never  to  be  left  in  peace  ?  Am  I  never  to  sit  down  to  a 
meal  without  having  work  thrust  upon  me  ?  Work — 
work — perpetually  work  ?  I  have  heard  no  other  word 
in  the  last  six  years.  I  declare  there  are  times" — he 
rose  suddenly  from  his  seat  and  turned  to  the  window — 
"  there  are  times  when  I  feel  that  for  sixpence  I'd  chuck 
it  all — the  whole  beastly  round — " 

Startled  by  his  vehemence,  Blessington  wheeled 
towards  him. 

"Not  your  political  career,  sir?" 

There  was  a  moment  in  which  Chilcote  hesitated,  a 
moment  in  which  the  desire  that  had  filled  his  mind  for 
months  rose  to  his  lips  and  hung  there;  then  the  ques- 
tion, the  incredulity  in  Blessington's  face,  chilled  it  and 
it  fell  back  into  silence. 

"I — I  didn't  say  that,"  he  murmured.  "You  young 
men  jump  to  conclusions,  Blessington." 

"Forgive  me,  sir.  I  never  meant  to  imply  retire- 
ment. Why,  Rickshaw,  Vale,  Cressham,  and  the  whole 
Wark  crowd  would  be  about  your  ears  like  flies  if  such 
a  thing  were  even  breathed — now  more  than  ever,  since 
these  Persian  rumors.  By-the-way,  is  there  anything 
real  in  this  border  business  ?  The  St.  George's  came  out 
rather  strong  last  night." 

19 


THE   MASQUERADER 

Chilcote  had  moved  back  to  the  table.  His  face  was 
pale  from  his  outburst  and  his  fingers  toyed  restlessly 
with  the  open  newspaper. 

"I  haven't  seen  the  St.  George's,"  he  said,  hastily. 
"  Lakely  is  always  ready  to  shake  the  red  rag  where 
Russia  is  concerned ;  whether  we  are  to  enter  the  arena 
is  another  matter.  But  what  about  Craig,  Burnage? 
I  think  you  mentioned  something  of  a  contract." 

"Oh,  don't  worry  about  that,  sir."  Blessington  had 
caught  the  twitching  at  the  corners  of  Chilcote's  mouth, 
the  nervous  sharpness  of  his  voice.  "I  can  put  Craig, 
Burnage  off.  If  they  have  an  answer  by  Thursday  it 
will  be  time  enough."  He  began  to  collect  his  papers, 
but  Chilcote  stopped  him. 

"Wait,"  he  said,  veering  suddenly.  "Wait.  I'll 
see  to  it  now.  I'll  feel  more  myself  when  I've  done 
something.     I'll  come  with  you  to  the  study." 

He  walked  hastily  across  the  room;  then,  with  his 
hand  on  the  door,  he  paused. 

"You  go  first,  Blessington,"  he  said.  "I'll— I'll  fol- 
low you  in  ten  minutes.  I  must  glance  through  the 
newspapers  first." 

Blessington  looked  uncertain.  "You  won't  forget, 
sir?" 

"Forget?     Of  course  not." 

Still  doubtfully,  Blessington  left  the  room  and  closed 
the  door. 

Once  alone,  Chilcote  walked  slowly  back  to  the  table, 
drew  up  his  chair,  and  sat  down  with  his  eyes  on  the 
white  cloth,  the  paper  lying  unheeded  beside  him. 

Time  passed.  A  servant  came  into  the  room  to  re- 
move the  breakfast.  Chilcote  moved  slightly  when 
necessary,  but  otherwise  retained  his  attitude.     The 

20 


THE    MASQUERADER 

servant,  having  finished  his  task,  replenished  the  fire 
and  left  the  room.     Chilcote  still  sat  on. 

At  last,  feeling  numbed,  he  rose  and  crossed  to  the 
fireplace.  The  clock  on  the  mantel-piece  stared  him  in 
the  face.  He  looked  at  it,  started  slightly,  then  drew 
out  his  watch.  Watch  and  clock  corresponded.  Each 
marked  twelve  o'clock.  With  a  nervous  motion  he 
leaned  forward  and  pressed  the  electric  bell  long  and 
hard. 

Instantly  a  servant  answered. 

"Is  Mr.  Blessington  in  the  study?"  Chilcote  asked. 

<(He  was  there,  sir,  five  minutes  back." 

Chilcote  looked  relieved. 

"All  right!  Tell  him  I  have  gone  out — had  to  go 
out.     Something  important.     You  understand  ?" 

"I  understand,  sir." 

But  before  the  words  had  been  properly  spoken  Chil- 
cote had  passed  the  man  and  walked  into  the  hall. 


Ill 

FEAVING  his  house,  Chilcote  walked  forward  quick- 
I  j  ly  and  aimlessly.  With  the  stkig  of  the  outer 
air  the  recollection  of  last  night's  adventure  came  back 
upon  him.  Since  the  hour  of  his  waking  it  had  hung 
about  with  vague  persistence,  but  now  in  the  clear 
light  of  day  it  seemed  to  stand  out  with  a  fuller  pecul- 
iarity. 

The  thing  was  preposterous,  nevertheless  it  was 
genuine.  He  was  wearing  the  overcoat  he  had  worn 
the  night  before,  and,  acting  on  impulse,  he  thrust  his 
hand  into  the  pocket  and  drew  out  the  stranger's 
card. 

"Mr.  John  Loder!"  He  read  the  name  over  as  he 
walked  along,  and  it  mechanically  repeated  itself  in  his 
brain — falling  into  measure  with  his  steps.  Who  was 
John  Loder  ?  What  was  he  ?  The  questions  tantalized 
him  till  his  pace  unconsciously  increased.  The  thought 
that  two  men  so  absurdly  alike  could  inhabit  the  same 
city  and  remain  unknown  to  each  other  faced  him  as  a 
problem:  it  tangled  with  his  personal  worries  and  ag- 
gravated them.  There  seemed  to  be  almost  a  danger 
in  such  an  extraordinary  likeness.  He  began  to  regret 
his  impetuosity  in  thrusting  his  card  upon  the  man. 
Then,  again,  how  he  had  let  himself  go  on  the  subject 
of  Lexington!  How  narrowly  he  had  escaped  com- 
promise!    He  turned  hot  and  cold  at  the  recollection 

22 


THE    MASQUERADER 

of  what  he  had  said  and  what  he  might  have  said. 
Then  for  the  first  time  he  paused  in  his  walk  and  looked 
about  him. 

On  leaving  Grosvenor  Square  he  had  turned  west- 
ward, moving  rapidly  till  the  Marble  Arch  was  reached; 
there,  still  oblivious  to  his  surroundings,  he  had  crossed 
the  roadway  to  the  Edgware  Road,  passing  along  it  to 
the  labyrinth  of  shabby  streets  that  lie  behind  Padding- 
ton.  Now,  as  he  glanced  about  him,  he  saw  with  some 
surprise  how  far  he  had  come. 

The  damp  remnants  of  the  fog  still  hung  about  the 
house-tops  in  a  filmy  veil;  there  were  no  glimpses  of 
green  to  break  the  monotony  of  tone;  all  was  quiet, 
dingy,  neglected.  But  to  Chilcote  the  shabbiness  was 
restful,  the  subdued  atmosphere  a  satisfaction.  Among 
these  sad  houses,  these  passers-by,  each  filled  with  his 
own  concerns,  he  experienced  a  sense  of  respite  and 
relief.  In  the  fashionable  streets  that  bounded  his 
own  horizon,  if  a  man  paused  in  his  walk  to  work  out  an 
idea  he  instantly  drew  a  crowd  of  inquisitive  or  con- 
temptuous eyes;  here,  if  a  man  halted  for  half  an  hour 
it  was  nobody's  business  but  his  own. 

Enjoying  this  thought,  he  wandered  on  for  close  upon 
an  hour,  moving  from  one  street  to  another  with  steps 
that  were  listless  or  rapid,  as  inclination  prompted; 
then,  still  acting  with  vagrant  aimlessness,  he  stopped 
in  his  wanderings  and  entered  a  small  eating-house. 

The  place  was  low-ceiled  and  dirty,  the  air  hot  and 
steaming  with  the  smell  of  food,  but  Chilcote  passed 
through  the  door  and  moved  to  one  of  the  tables  with 
no  expression  of  disgust,  and  with  far  less  furtive 
watchfulness  than  he  used  in  his  own  house.  By  a 
curious  mental  twist  he  felt  greater  freedom,  larger 

23 


THE    MASQUERADER 

opportunities  in  drab  surroundings  such  as  these  than 
in  the  broad  issues  and  weighty  responsibilities  of  his 
own  life.  Choosing  a  corner  seat,  he  called  for  coffee; 
and  there,  protected  by  shadow  and  wrapped  in  ciga- 
rette smoke,  he  set  about  imagining  himself  some  va- 
grant unit  who  had  slipped  his  moorings  and  was  bliss- 
fully adrift. 

The  imagination  was  pleasant  while  it  lasted,  but 
with  him  nothing  was  permanent.  Of  late  the  greater 
part  of  his  sufferings  had  been  comprised  in  the  irritable 
fickleness  of  all  his  aims — the  distaste  for  and  impossi- 
bility of  sustained  effort  in  any  direction.  He  had 
barely  lighted  a  second  cigarette  when  the  old  restless- 
ness fell  upon  him ;  he  stirred  nervously  in  his  seat,  and 
the  cigarette  was  scarcely  burned  out  when  he  rose, 
paid  his  small  bill,  and  left  the  shop. 

Outside  on  the  pavement  he  halted,  pulled  out  his 
watch,  and  saw  that  two  hours  stretched  in  front  before 
any  appointment  claimed  his  attention.  He  won- 
dered vaguely  where  he  might  go  to — what  he  might  do 
in  those  two  hours  ?  In  the  last  few  minutes  a  distaste 
for  solitude  had  risen  in  his  mind,  giving  the  close  street 
a  loneliness  that  had  escaped  him  before. 

As  he  stood  wavering  a  cab  passed  slowly  down  the 
street.  The  sight  of  a  well-dressed  man  roused  the 
cabman;  flicking  his  whip,  he  passed  Chilcote  dose, 
feigning  to  pull  up. 

The  cab  suggested  civilization.  Chilcote's  mind 
veered  suddenly  and  he  raised  his  hand.  The  vehicle 
stopped  and  he  climbed  in. 

"Where,  sir?"  The  cabman  peered  down  through 
the  roof-door. 

Chilcote  raised  his  head.     "Oh,  anywhere  near  Pall 

24 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Mall,"  he  said.  Then,  as  the  horse  started  forward,  he 
put  up  his  hand  and  shook  the  trap-door.  "  Wait!"  he 
called.  ''I've  changed  my  mind.  Drive  to  Cadogan 
Gardens — No.  33." 

The  distance  to  Cadogan  Gardens  was  covered 
quickly.  Chilcote  had  hardly  realized  that  his  desti- 
nation was  reached  when  the  cab  pulled  up.  Jump- 
ing out,  he  paid  the  fare  and  walked  quickly  to  the 
hall-door  of  No.  33. 

"Is  Lady  Astrupp  at  home?"  he  asked,  sharply,  as 
the  door  swung  back  in  answer  to  his  knock. 

The  servant  drew  back  deferentially.  "Her  lady- 
ship has  almost  finished  lunch,  sir,"  he  said. 

For  answer  Chilcote  stepped  through  the  door-way 
and  walked  half-way  across  the  hall. 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "  But  don't  disturb  her  on  my 
account.  I'll  wait  in  the  white  room  till  she  has  fin- 
ished." And,  without  taking  further  notice  of  the  ser- 
vant, he  began  to  mount  the  stairs. 

In  the  room  where  he  had  chosen  to  wait  a  pleasant 
wood-fire  brightened  the  dull  January  afternoon  and 
softened  the  thick,  white  curtains,  the  gilt  furniture,  and 
the  Venetian  vases  filled  with  white  roses.  Moving 
straight  forward,  Chilcote  paused  by  the  grate  and 
stretched  his  hands  to  the  blaze;  then,  with  his  usual 
instability,  he  turned  and  passed  to  a  couch  that  stood 
a  yard  or  two  away. 

On  the  couch,  tucked  away  between  a  novel  and  a 
crystal  gazing -ball,  was  a  white  Persian  kitten,  fast 
asleep.  Chilcote  picked  up  the  ball  and  held  it  between 
his  eyes  and  the  fire;  then  he  laughed  superciliously 
tossed  it  back  into  its  place,  and  caught  the  kitten's 
*  25 


THE    MASQUERADER 

tail.  The  little  animal  stirred,  stretched  itself,  and 
began  to  purr.  At  the  same  moment  the  door  of  the 
room  opened. 

Chilcote  turned  round.  "I  particularly  said  you 
were  not  to  be  disturbed,"  he  began.  "  Have  I  merited 
displeasure?"  He  spoke  fast,  with  the  uneasy  tone 
that  so  often  underran  his  words. 

Lady  Astrupp  took  his  hand  with  a  confiding  gesture 
and  smiled. 

"Never  displeasure,"  she  said,  lingeringly,  and  again 
she  smiled.  The  smile  might  have  struck  a  close  ob- 
server as  faintly  artificial.  But  what  man  in  Chilcote's 
frame  of  mind  has  time  to  be  observant  where  women 
are  concerned  ?  The  manner  of  the  smile  was  very 
sweet  and  almost  caressing — and  that  sufficed. 

"What  have  you  been  doing?"  she  asked,  after  a 
moment.  "I  thought  I  was  quite  forgotten."  She 
moved  across  to  the  couch,  picked  up  the  kitten,  and 
kissed  it.     "Isn't  this  sweet?"  she  added. 

She  looked  very  graceful  as  she  turned,  holding  the 
little  animal  up.  She  was  a  woman  of  twenty -seven, 
but  she  looked  a  girl.  The  outline  of  her  face  was  pure, 
the  pale  gold  of  her  hair  almost  ethereal,  and  her  tall, 
slight  figure  still  suggested  the  suppleness,  the  possi- 
bility of  future  development,  that  belongs  to  youth. 
She  wore  a  lace-colored  gown  that  harmonized  with 
the  room  and  with  the  delicacy  of  her  skin. 

"Now  sit  down  and  rest — or  walk  about  the  room. 
I  sha'n't  mind  which."  She  nestled  into  the  couch 
and  picked  up  the  crystal  ball. 

"What  is  the  toy  for?"  Chilcote  looked  at  her  from 
the  mantel-piece,  against  which  he  was  resting.  He 
had  never  defined  the  precise  attraction  that  Lillian 

26 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Astrupp  held  for  him.  Her  shallowness  soothed  him; 
her  inconsequent  egotism  helped  him  to  forget  himself. 
She  never  asked  him  how  he  was,  she  never  expected 
impossibilities.  She  let  him  come  and  go  and  act  as 
he  pleased,  never  demanding  reasons.  Like  the  kitten, 
she  was  charming  and  graceful  and  easily  amused;  it 
was  possible  that,  also  like  the  kitten,  she  could  scratch 
and  be  spiteful  on  occasion,  but  that  did  not  weigh 
with  him.  He  sometimes  expressed  a  vague  envy  of 
the  late  Lord  Astrupp;  but,  even  had  circumstances 
permitted,  it  is  doubtful  whether  he  would  have  chosen 
to  be  his  successor.  Lillian  as  a  friend  was  delightful, 
but  Lillian  as  a  wife  would  have  been  a  different  con- 
sideration. 

"  What  is  the  toy  for  ?"  he  asked  again. 

She  looked  up  slowly.  "How  cruel  of  you,  Jack! 
It  is  my  very  latest  hobby." 

It  was  part  of  her  attraction  that  she  was  never  with- 
out a  craze.  Each  new  one  was  as  fleeting  as  the  last, 
but  to  each  she  brought  the  same  delightfully  insincere 
enthusiasm,  the  same  picturesque  devotion.  Each  was 
a  pose,  but  she  posed  so  sweetly  that  nobody  lost  pa- 
tience. 

"You  mustn't  laugh!"  she  protested,  letting  the 
kitten  slip  to  the  ground.  "I've  had  lessons  at  five 
guineas  each  from  the  most  fascinating  person — a  pro- 
fessional ;  and  I'm  becoming  quite  an  adept.  Of  course 
I  haven't  been  much  beyond  the  milky  appearance 
yet,  but  the  milky  appearance  is  everything,  you 
know;  the  rest  will  come.  I  am  trying  to  persuade 
Blanche  to  let  me  have  a  pavilion  at  her  party  in 
March,  and  gaze  for  all  you  dull  political  people." 
Again  she  smiled. 

27 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Chilcote  smiled  as  well.  "How  is  it  done  ?"  he  asked, 
momentarily  amused. 

"  Oh,  the  doing  is  quite  delicious.  You  sit  at  a  table 
with  the  ball  in  front  of  you;  then  you  take  the  sub- 
ject's hands,  spread  them  out  on  the  table,  and  stroke 
them  very  softly  while  you  gaze  into  the  crystal;  that 
gets  up  the  sympathy,  you  know."  She  looked  up 
innocently.     "Shall  I  show  you?" 

Chilcote  moved  a  small  table  nearer  to  the  couch  and 
spread  his  hands  upon  it,  palms  downward.  "Like 
this,  eh?"  he  said.  Then  a  ridiculous  nervousness 
seized  him  and  he  moved  away.  "Some  other  day," 
he  said,  quickly.  "You  can  show  me  some  other  day. 
I'm  not  very  fit  this  afternoon." 

If  Lillian  felt  any  disappointment,  she  showed  none. 
"Poor  old  thing!"  she  said,  softly.  "Try  to  sit  here 
by  me  and  we  won't  bother  about  anything."  She 
made  a  place  for  him  beside  her,  and  as  he  dropped  into 
it  she  took  his  hand  and  patted  it  sympathetically. 

The  touch  was  soothing,  and  he  bore  it  patiently 
enough.  After  a  moment  she  lifted  the  hand  with  a 
little  exclamation  of  reproof. 

' '  You  degenerate  person !  You  have  ceased  to  mani- 
cure.    What  has  become  of  my  excellent  training?" 

Chilcote  laughed.  "Run  to  seed,"  he  said,  lightly. 
Then  his  expression  and  tone  changed.  "When  a  man 
gets  to  my  age,"  he  added,  "little  social  luxuries  don't 
seem  worth  while;  the  social  necessities  are  irksome 
enough.  Personally,  I  envy  the  beggar  in  the  street — 
exempt  from  shaving,  exempt  from  washing — " 

Lillian  raised  her  delicate  eyebrows.  The  sentiment 
was  beyond  her  perception. 

"But  manicuring,"  she  said,  reproachfully,  "when 

28 


THE    MASQUERADER 

you  have  such  nice  hands.  It  was  your  hands  and 
your  eyes,  you  know,  that  first  appealed  to  me."  She 
sighed  gently,  with  a  touch  of  sentimental  remem- 
brance. "And  I  thought  it  so  strong  of  you  not  to 
wear  rings  —  it  must  be  such  a  temptation."  She 
looked  down  at  her  own  fingers,  glittering  with  jewels. 

But  the  momentary  pleasure  of  her  touch  was  gone. 
Chilcote  drew  away  his  hand  and  picked  up  the  book 
that  lay  between  them. 

"  Other  Men's  Shoes! "  he  read.    "  A  novel,  of  course  ?" 

She  smiled.  "Of  course.  Such  a  fantastic  story. 
Two  men  changing  identities." 

Chilcote  rose  and  walked  back  to  the  mantel-piece. 

"Changing  identities?"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  in- 
terest. 

"Yes.  One  man  is  an  artist,  the  other  a  millionaire; 
one  wants  to  know  what  fame  is  like,  the  other  wants 
to  know  how  it  feels  to  be  really  sinfully  rich.  So  they 
exchange  experiences  for  a  month."     She  laughed. 

Chilcote  laughed  as  well.     "But  how?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  I  told  you  the  idea  was  absurd.  Fancy  two 
people  so  much  alike  that  neither  their  friends  nor  their 
servants  see  any  difference!  Such  a  thing  couldn't  be, 
could  it?" 

Chilcote  looked  Sown  at  the  fire.  "No,"  he  said, 
doubtfully.     "No.     I  suppose  not." 

"Of  cour?e  not.  There  are  likenesses,  but  not  freak 
likenesses  like  that." 

Chilcote's  head  was  bent  as  she  spoke,  but  at  the 
last  words  he  lifted  it. 

"By  Jove!  I  don't  know  about  that!"  he  said. 
"Not  so  very  long  ago  I  saw  two  men  so  much  alike 
that  I — I — "     He  stopped 

29 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Lillian  smiled. 

He  colored  quickly.     "You  doubt  me?"  he  asked. 

"My  dear  Jack !"  Her  voice  was  delicately  reproach- 
ful. 

"Then  you  think  that  my — my  imagination  has  been 
playing  me  tricks?" 

"My  dear  boy!  Nothing  of  the  kind.  Come  back 
to  your  place  and  tell  me  the  whole  tale  ?"  She  smiled 
again,  and  patted  the  couch  invitingly. 

But  Chilcote's  balance  had  been  upset.  For  the  first 
time  he  saw  Lillian  as  one  of  the  watchful,  suspecting 
crowd  before  which  he  was  constantly  on  guard.  Act- 
ing on  the  sensation,  he  moved  suddenly  towards  the 
door. 

"I — I  have  an  appointment  at  the  House,"  he  said, 
quickly.  "I'll  look  in  another  day  when — when  I'm 
better  company.  I  know  I'm  a  bear  to-day.  My 
nerves,  you  know."  He  came  back  to  the  couch  and 
took  her  hand ;  then  he  touched  her  cheek  for  an  instant 
with  his  fingers. 

"Good-bye,"  he  said.  "Take  care  of  yourself — 
and  the  kitten,"  he  added,  with  forced  gayety,  as  he 
crossed  the  room. 

That  afternoon  Chilcote's  nervous  condition  reached 
its  height.  All  day  he  had  avoided  the  climax,  but  no 
evasion  can  be  eternal,  and  this  he  realized  as  he  sat  in 
his  place  on  the  Opposition  benches  during  the  half- 
hour  of  wintry  twilight  that  precedes  the  turning-on  of 
the  lights.  He  realized  it  in  that  half-hour,  but  the 
application  of  the  knowledge  followed  later,  when  the 
time  came  for  him  to  question  the  government  on 
some  point  relating  to  a  proposed  additional  dry-dock 

3° 


THE    MASQUERADER 

at  Talkley,  the  naval  base.  Then  for  the  first  time  he 
knew  that  the  sufferings  of  the  past  months  could  have 
a  visible  as  well  as  a  hidden  side — could  disorganize  his 
daily  routine  as  they  had  already  demoralized  his  will 
and  character. 

The  thing  came  upon  him  with  extraordinary  lack  of 
preparation.  He  sat  through  the  twilight  with  toler- 
able calm,  his  nervousness  showing  only  in  the  occa- 
sional lifting  of  his  hand  to  his  collar  and  the  frequent 
changing  of  his  position  ;  but  when  the  lights  were  turn- 
ed on,  and  he  leaned  back  in  his  seat  with  closed  eyes, 
he  became  conscious  of  a  curious  impression — a  dis- 
turbing idea  that  through  his  closed  lids  he  could  see 
the  faces  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  House,  see  the 
rows  of  eyes,  sleepy,  interested,  or  vigilant.  Never  be- 
fore had  the  sensation  presented  itself,  but,  once  setup, 
it  ran  through  all  his  susceptibilities.  By  an  absurd 
freak  of  fancy  those  varying  eyes  seemed  to  pierce 
through  his  lids,  almost  through  his  eyeballs.  The  cold 
perspiration  that  was  his  daily  horror  broke  out  on  his 
forehead;  and  at  the  same  moment  Fraide,  his  leader, 
turned,  leaned  over  the  back  of  his  seat,  and  touched 
his  knee. 

Chilcote  started  and  opened  his  eyes.  "  I — I  believe 
I  was  dozing,"  he  said,  confusedly. 

Fraide  smiled  his  dry,  kindly  smile.  "A  fatal  ad- 
mission for  a  member  of  the  Opposition,"  he  said. 
"  But  I  was  looking  for  you  earlier  in  the  day,  Chilcote. 
There  is  something  behind  this  Persian  affair.  I  be- 
lieve it  to  be  a  mere  first  move  on  Russia's  part  You 
big  trading  people  will  find  it  worth  watching." 

Chilcote  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Oh,  I  don't 
know,"  he   said.     "I   scarcely  believe  in  it.     Lakely 

3i 


THE    MASQUERADER 

put  a  match  to  the  powder  in  the  St.  George's,  but  'twill 
only  be  a  noise  and  a  puff  of  smoke." 

But  Fraide  did  not  smile.  "What  is  the  feeling  down 
at  Wark  ?"  he  asked.    "  Has  it  awakened  any  interest  ?" 

"At  Wark?  Oh,  I — I  don't  quite  know.  I  have 
been  a  little  out  of  touch  with  Wark  in  the  last  few 
weeks.  A  man  has  so  many  private  affairs  to  look 
to — "     He  was  uneasy  under  his  chief's  scrutiny. 

Fraide's  lips  parted  as  if  to  make  reply,  but  with  a 
certain  dignified  reticence  he  closed  them  again  and 
turned  away. 

Chilcote  leaned  back  in  his  place  and  furtively 
passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead.  His  mind  was 
possessed  by  one  consideration — the  consideration  of 
himself.  He  glanced  down  the  crowded,  lighted  House 
to  the  big  glass  doors ;  he  glanced  about  him  at  his  col- 
leagues, indifferent  or  interested;  then  surreptitiously 
his  fingers  strayed  to  his  waistcoat-pocket. 

Usually  he  carried  his  morphia  tabloids  with  him, 
but  to-day  by  a  lapse  of  memory  he  had  left  them  at 
home.  He  knew  this,  nevertheless  he  continued  to 
search,  while  the  need  of  the  drug  rushed  through  him 
with  a  sense  of  physical  sickness.  He  lost  hold  on  the 
business  of  the  House;  unconsciously  he  half  rose  from 
his  seat. 

The  man  next  him  looked  up.  "Hold  your  ground, 
Chilcote,"  he  said.     "Rayforth  is  drying  up." 

With  a  wave  of  relief  Chilcote  dropped  back  into 
his  place.  Whatever  the  confusion  in  his  mind,  it  was 
evidently  not  obvious  in  his  face. 

Rayforth  resumed  his  seat,  there  was  the  usual  slight 
stir  and  pause,  then  Salett,  the  member  for  Sal  Chester, 
rose. 

32 


THE    MASQUERADER 

With  Salett's  first  words  Chilcote's  hand  again  sought 
his  pocket,  and  again  his  eyes  strayed  towards  the 
doors,  but  Fraide's  erect  head  and  stiff  back  just  in 
front  of  him  held  him  quiet.  With  an  effort  he  pulled 
out  his  notes  and  smoothed  them  nervously;  but 
though  his  gaze  was  fixed  on  the  pages,  not  a  line  of 
Blessington's  clear  writing  reached  his  mind.  He 
glanced  at  the  face  of  the  Speaker,  then  at  the  faces  on 
the  Treasury  Bench,  then  once  more  he  leaned  back  in 
his  seat. 

The  man  beside  him  saw  the  movement.  "Funk- 
ing the  dry-dock?"  he  whispered,  jestingly. 

"No" — Chilcote  turned  to  him  suddenly — "but  I 
feel  beastly — have  felt  beastly  for  weeks." 

The  other  looked  at  him  more  closely.  "Anything 
wrong?"  he  asked.  It  was  a  novel  experience  to  be 
confided  in  by  Chilcote. 

"Oh,  it's  the  grind — the  infernal  grind."  As  he 
said  it,  it  seemed  to  him  suddenly  that  his  strength  gave 
way.  He  forgot  his  companion,  his  position,  every- 
thing except  the  urgent  instinct  that  filled  mind  and 
body.  Scarcely  knowing  what  he  did,  he  rose  and 
leaned  forward  to  whisper  in  Fraide's  ear. 

Fraide  was  seen  to  turn,  his  thin  face  interested  and 
concerned,  then  he  was  seen  to  nod  once  or  twice  in 
acquiescence,  and  a  moment  later  Chilcote  stepped 
quietly  out  of  his  place. 

One  or  two  men  spoke  to  him  as  he  hurried  from  the 
House,  but  he  shook  them  off  almost  uncivilly,  and, 
making  for  the  nearest  exit,  hailed  a  cab. 

The  drive  to  Grosvenor  Square  was  a  misery.  Time 
after  time  he  changed  from  one  corner  of  the  cab  to  the 
other,  his  acute  internal  pains  prolonged  by  every  de- 

33 


THE    MASQUERADER 

lay  and  increased  by  every  motion.  At  last,  weak  in 
all  his  limbs,  he  stepped  from  the  vehicle  at  his  own 
door. 

Entering  the  house,  he  instantly  mounted  the  stairs 
and  passed  to  his  own  rooms.  Opening  the  bedroom 
door,  he  peered  in  cautiously,  then  pushed  the  door 
wide.  The  light  had  been  switched  on,  but  the  room 
was  empty.  With  a  nervous  excitement  scarcely  to 
be  kept  in  check,  he  entered,  shut  and  locked  the  door, 
then  moved  to  the  wardrobe,  and,  opening  it,  drew  the 
tube  of  tabloids  from  the  shelf, 

His  hand  shook  violently  as  he  carried  the  tube  to  the 
table.  The  strain  of  the  day,  the  anxiety  of  the  past 
hours,  with  their  final  failure,  had  found  sudden  ex- 
pression. Mixing  a  larger  dose  than  any  he  had  before 
allowed  himself,  he  swallowed  it  hastily,  and,  walking 
across  the  room,  threw  himself,  fully  dressed,  upon  the 
bed. 


IV 

TO  those  whose  sphere  lies  in  the  west  of  London, 
Fleet  Street  is  little  more  than  a  name,  and  Clif- 
ford's Inn  a  mere  dead  letter.  Yet  Clifford's  Inn  lies 
as  safely  stowed  away  in  the  shadow  of  the  Law  Courts 
as  any  grave  under  a  country  church  wall;  it  is  as 
green  of  grass,  as  gray  of  stone,  as  irresponsive  to  the 
passing  footstep. 

Facing  the  railed-in  grass-plot  of  its  little  court  stood 
the  house  in  which  John  Loder  had  his  rooms.  Taken 
at  a  first  glance,  the  house  had  the  deserted  air  of  an 
office,  inhabited  only  in  the  early  hours;  but,  as  night 
fell,  lights  would  be  seen  to  show  out,  first  on  one  floor, 
then  on  another  —  faint,  human  beacons  unconscious- 
ly signalling  each  other.  The  rooms  Loder  inhabited 
were  on  the  highest  floor;  and  from  their  windows  one 
might  gaze  philosophically  on  the  tree-tops,  forgetting 
the  uneven  pavement  and  the  worn  railing  that  hem- 
med them  round.  In  the  landing  outside  the  rooms 
his  name  appeared  above  his  door,  but  the  paint  had 
been  soiled  by  time,  and  the  letters  for  the  most  part 
reduced  to  shadows;  so  that,  taken  in  conjunction  with 
the  gaunt  staircase  and  bare  walls,  the  place  had  a 
cheerless  look. 

Inside,  however,  the  effect  was  somewhat  mitigated. 
The  room  on  the  right  hand,  as  one  entered  the  small 
passage  that  served  as  hall,  was  of  fair  size,  though  low- 

35 


THE    MASQUERADER 

ceiled.  The  paint  of  the  wall-panelling,  like  the  name 
above  the  outer  door,  had  long  ago  been  worn  to  a  dirty 
and  nondescript  hue,  and  the  floor  was  innocent  of 
carpet;  yet  in  the  middle  of  the  room  stood  a  fine  old 
Cromwell  table,  and  on  the  plain  deal  book-shelves  and 
along  the  mantel-piece  were  some  valuable  books — 
political  and  historical.  There  were  no  curtains  on  the 
windows,  and  a  common  reading  -  lamp  with  a  green 
shade  stood  on  a  desk.  It  was  the  room  of  a  man  with 
few  hobbies  and  no  pleasures — who  existed  because  he 
was  alive,  and  worked  because  he  must. 

Three  nights  after  the  great  fog  John  Loder  sat  by 
his  desk  in  the  light  of  the  green-shaded  lamp.  The 
remains  of  a  very  frugal  supper  stood  on  the  centre- 
table,  and  in  the  grate  a  small  and  economical-looking 
fire  was  burning. 

Having  written  for  close  on  two  hours,  he  pushed 
back  his  chair  and  stretched  his  cramped  fingers;  then 
he  yawned,  rose,  and  slowly  walked  across  the  room. 
Reaching  the  mantel-piece,  he  took  a  pipe  from  the 
pipe-rack  and  some  tobacco  from  the  jar  that  stood 
behind  the  books.  His  face  looked  tired  and  a  little 
worn,  as  is  common  with  men  who  have  worked  long 
at  an  uncongenial  task.  Shredding  the  tobacco  between 
his  hands,  he  slowly  filled  the  pipe,  then  lighted  it  from 
the  fire  with  a  spill  of  twisted  paper. 

Almost  at  the  moment  that  he  applied  the  light  the 
sound  of  steps  mounting  the  uncarpeted  stairs  outside 
caught  his  attention,  and  he  raised  his  head  to  listen. 

Presently  the  steps  halted  and  he  heard  a  match 
struck.  The  stranger  was  evidently  uncertain  of  his 
whereabouts.  Then  the  steps  moved  forward  again 
and  paused. 

36 


THE    MASQUERADER 

An  expression  of  surprise  crossed  Loder's  face,  and  he 
laid  down  his  pipe.  As  the  visitor  knocked,  he  walked 
quietly  across  the  room  and  opened  the  door. 

The  passage  outside  was  dark,  and  the  new-comer 
drew  back  before  the  light  from  the  room. 

"  Mr.  Loder —  ?"  he  began,  interrogatively.  Then  all 
at  once  he  laughed  in  embarrassed  apology.  "  Forgive 
me,"  he  said.  "The  light  rather  dazzled  me.  I 
didn't  realize  who  it  was." 

Loder  recognized  the  voice  as  belonging  to  his  ac- 
quaintance of  the  fog. 

"Oh,  it's  you!"  he  said.  "Won't  you  come  in?" 
His  voice  was  a  little  cold.  This  sudden  resurrection 
left  him  surprised  —  and  not  quite  pleasantly  sur- 
prised. He  walked  back  to  the  fireplace,  followed  by 
his  guest. 

The  guest  seemed  nervous  and  agitated.  "I  must 
apologize  for  the  hour  of  my  visit,"  he  said.  "My — 
my  time  is  not  quite  my  own." 

Loder  waved  his  hand.  "Whose  time  is  his  own?" 
he  said. 

Chilcote,  encouraged  by  the  remark,  drew  nearer  to 
the  fire.  Until  this  moment  he  had  refrained  from 
looking  directly  at  his  host;  now,  however,  he  raised 
his  eyes,  and,  despite  his  preparation,  he  recoiled  un- 
avoidably before  the  extraordinary  resemblance.  Seen 
here,  in  the  casual  surroundings  of  a  badly  furnished 
and  crudely  lighted  room,  it  was  even  more  astounding 
than  it  had  been  in  the  mystery  of  the  fog. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said  again.  "It  is  physical — 
purely  physical.     I  am  bowled  over  against  my  will." 

Loder  smiled.  The  slight  contempt  that  Chilcote 
had  first  inspired  rose  again,  and  with  it  a  second  feeling 

37 


THE    MASQUERADER 

less  easily  defined.     The  man  seemed  so  unstable,  so 
incapable,  yet  so  grotesquely  suggestive  to  himself. 

'The  likeness  is  rather  overwhelming,"  he  said; 
"but  not  heavy  enough  to  sink  under.  Come  nearer 
the  fire.  What  brought  you  here  ?  Curiosity  ?"  There 
was  a  wooden  arm-chair  by  the  fireplace.  He  indicated 
it  with  a  wave  of  the  hand;  then  turned  and  took  up 
his  smouldering  pipe. 

Chilcote,  watching  him  fu*rtively,  obeyed  the  gesture 
and  sat  down. 

"  It  is  extraordinary!"  he  said,  as  if  unable  to  dismiss 
the  subject.     "It — it  is  quite  extraordinary!" 

The  other  glanced  round.  "Let's  drop  it,"  he  said. 
"It's  so  confoundedly  obvious."  Then  his  tone  changed. 
"Won't  you  smoke?"  he  asked. 

"Thanks."  Chilcote  began  to  fumble  for  his  ciga- 
rettes. 

But  his  host  forestalled  him.  Taking  a  box  from 
the  mantel-piece,  he  held  it  out. 

"My  one  extravagance!"  he  said,  ironically.  "My 
resources  bind  me  to  one;  and  I  think  I  have  made  a 
wise  selection.  It  is  about  the  only  vice  we  haven't  to 
pay  for  six  times  over."  He  glanced  sharply  at  the 
face  so  absurdly  like  his  own,  then,  lighting  a  fresh  spill, 
offered  his  guest  a  light. 

Chilcote  moistened  his  cigarette  and  leaned  forward. 
In  the  flare  of  the  paper  his  face  looked  set  and  anxious, 
but  Loder  saw  that  the  lips  did  not  twitch  as  they  had 
done  on  the  previous  occasion  that  he  had  given  him  a 
light,  and  a  look  of  comprehension  crossed  his  eyes. 

"What  will  you  drink?  Or,  rather,  will  you  have  a 
whiskey  ?  I  keep  nothing  else.  Hospitality  is  one  of 
the  debarred  luxuries." 

38 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Chilcote  shook  his  head.  "I  seldom  drink.  But 
don't  let  that  deter  you." 

Loder  smiled.  "  I  have  one  drink  in  the  twenty-four 
hours — generally  at  two  o'clock,  when  my  night's  work 
is  done.     A  solitary  man  has  to  look  where  he  is  going." 

"You  work  till  two?" 

"Two— or  three." 

Chilcote's  eyes  wandered  to  the  desk.  "  You  write  ?" 
he  asked. 

The  other  nodded  curtly. 

"Books?"     Chilcote's  tone  was  anxious. 

Loder  laughed,  and  the  bitter  note  showed  in  his 
voice. 

"No — not  books,"  he  said. 

Chilcote  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  passed  his  hand 
across  his  face.  The  strong  wave  of  satisfaction  that 
the  words  woke  in  him  was  difficult  to  conceal. 

"What  is  your  work?" 

Loder  turned  aside.  "You  must  not  ask  that,"  he 
said,  shortly.  "When  a  man  has  only  one  capacity, 
and  the  capacity  has  no  outlet,  he  is  apt  to  run  to  seed 
in  a  wrong  direction.  I  cultivate  weeds — at  abomi- 
nable labor  and  a  very  small  reward."  He  stood  with 
his  back  to  the  fire,  facing  his  visitor;  his  attitude  was  a 
curious  blending  of  pride,  defiance,  and  despondency. 

Chilcote  leaned  forward  again.  "Why  speak  of 
yourself  like  that  ?  You  are  a  man  of  intelligence  and 
education."     He  spoke  questioningly,  anxiously. 

"Intelligence  and  education!"  Loder  laughed  short- 
ly. "London  is  cemented  with  intelligence.  And 
education!  What  is  education?  The  court  dress 
necessary  to  presentation,  the  wig  and  gown  necessary 
to  the  barrister.     But  do  the  wig  and  gown  necessarily 

39 


THE    MASQUERADER 

mean  briefs?  Or  the  court  dress  royal  favor?  Edu- 
cation is  the  accessory;  it  is  influence  that  is  essential. 
You  should  know  that." 

Chilcote  moved  restlessly  in  his  seat.  "You  talk 
bitterly,"  he  said. 

The  other  looked  up.  "I  think  bitterly,  which  is 
worse.  I  am  one  of  the  unlucky  beggars  who,  in  the 
expectation  of  money,  has  been  denied  a  profession — 
even  a  trade,  to  which  to  cling  in  time  of  shipwreck; 
and  who,  when  disaster  comes,  drift  out  to  sea.  I 
warned  you  the  other  night  to  steer  clear  of  me.  I 
come  under  the  head  of  flotsam!" 

Chilcote's  face  lighted.  'You  came  a  cropper?"  he 
asked. 

"No.  It  was  some  one  else  who  came  the  cropper. 
I  only  dealt  in  results." 

"Big  results?" 

"A  drop  from  a  probable  eighty  thousand  pounds  to 
a  certain  eight  hundred." 

Chilcote  glanced  up.  "How  did  you  take  it?"  he 
asked. 

"I?  Oh,  I  was  twenty-five  then.  I  had  a  good 
many  hopes  and  a  lot  of  pride;  but  there  is  no  place  for 
either  in  a  working  world." 

"But  your  people?" 

"My  last  relation  died  with  the  fortune." 

"  Your  friends  ?" 

Loder  laid  down  his  pipe.  "I  told  you  I  was  twenty- 
five,"  he  said,  with  the  tinge  of  humor  that  sometimes 
crossed  his  manner.  "Doesn't  that  explain  things? 
I  had  never  taken  favors  in  prosperity;  a  change  of 
fortune  was  not  likely  to  alter  my  ways.  As  I  have 
said,  I  was  twenty-five."     He  smiled.     "When  I  real- 

40 


THE    MASQUERADER 

ized  my  position  I  sold  all  my  belongings  with  the  ex- 
ception of  a  table  and  a  few  books — which  I  stored.  I 
put  on  a  walking-suit  and  let  my  beard  grow;  then, 
with  my  entire  capital  in  my  pocket,  I  left  England 
without  saying  good-bye  to  any  one." 

"For  how  long?" 

"Oh,  for  six  years.  I  wandered  half  over  Europe 
and  through  a  good  part  of  Asia  in  the  time." 

"And  then?" 

"Then?  Oh,  I  shaved  off  the  beard  and  came  back 
to  London !"  He  looked  at  Chilcote,  partly  contemptu- 
ous, partly  amused  at  his  curiosity. 

But  Chilcote  sat  staring  in  silence.  The  domination 
of  the  other's  personality  and  the  futility  of  his  achieve- 
ments baffled  him. 

Loder  saw  his  bewilderment.  "You  wonder  what 
the  devil  I  came  into  the  world  for,"  he  said.  "I 
sometimes  wonder  the  same  myself." 

At  his  words  a  change  passed  over  Chilcote.  He  half 
rose,  then  dropped  back  into  his  seat. 

"You  have  no  friends?"  he  said.  "Your  life  is 
worth  nothing  to  you?" 

Loder  raised  his  head.  "I  thought  I  had  conveyed 
that  impression." 

"You  are  an  absolutely  free  man." 

"No  man  is  free  who  works  for  his  bread.  If  things 
had  been  different  I  might  have  been  in  such  shoes  as 
yours,  sauntering  in  legislative  byways;  my  hopes 
turned  that  way  once.  But  hopes,  like  more  substan- 
tial things,  belong  to  the  past — "  He  stopped  abruptly 
and  looked  at  his  companion. 

The  change  in  Chilcote  had  become  more  acute;  he 
sat  fingering  his  cigarette,  his  brows  drawn  down,  his 

4  4i 


THE    MASQUERADER 

lips  set  nervously  in  a  conflict  of  emotions.  For  a 
space  he  stayed  very  still,  avoiding  Loder's  eyes;  then, 
as  if  decision  had  suddenlv  come  to  him,  he  turned  and 
met  his  gaze. 

"How  if  there  was  a  future,"  he  said,  "as  well  as  a 
past?" 


FOR  the  space  of  a  minute  there  was  silence  in  the 
room,  then  outside  in  the  still  night  three  clocks 
simultaneously  chimed  eleven,  and  their  announcement 
was  taken  up  and  echoed  by  half  a  dozen  others,  loud 
and  faint,  hoarse  and  resonant;  for  all  through  the 
hours  of  darkness  the  neighborhood  of  Fleet  Street  is 
alive  with  chimes. 

Chilcote,  startled  by  the  jangle,  rose  from  his  seat; 
then,  as  if  driven  by  an  uncontrollable  impulse,  he 
spoke  again. 

"You  probably  think  I  am  mad — "  he  began. 

Loder  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth.  "I  am  not  so 
presumptuous,"  he  said,  quietly. 

For  a  space  the  other  eyed  him  silently,  as  if  trying 
to  gauge  his  thoughts;  then  once  more  he  broke  into 
speech. 

"Look  here,"  he  said.  "I  came  to-night  to  make  a 
proposition.  When  I  have  made  it  you'll  first  of  all 
jeer  at  it — as  I  jeered  when  I  made  it  to  myself;  then 
you'll  see  its  possibilities — as  I  did;  then" — he  paused 
and  glanced  round  the  room  nervously — "then  you'll 
accept  it — as  I  did."  In  the  uneasy  haste  of  his  speech 
his  words  broke  off  almost  unintelligibly. 

Involuntarily  Loder  lifted  his  head  to  retort,  but  Chil- 
cote put  up  his  hand.  His  face  was  set  with  the  obsti- 
nate determination  that  weak  men  sometimes  exhibit. 

43 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"  Before  I  begin  I  want  to  say  that  I  am  not  drunk — 
that  I  am  neither  mad  nor  drunk."  He  looked  fully 
at  his  companion  with  his  restless  glance.  "I  am  quite 
sane — quite  reasonable." 

Again  Loder  essayed  to  speak,  but  again  he  put  up 
his  hand. 

"No.  Hear  me  out.  You  told  me  something  of 
your  story.  I'll  tell  you  something  of  mine.  Yoii'll 
be  the  first  person,  man  or  woman,  that  I  have  con- 
fided in  for  ten  years.  You  say  you  have  been  treated 
shabbily.  I  have  treated  myself  shabbily — which  is 
harder  to  reconcile.  I  had  every  chance  —  and  I 
chucked  every  chance  away." 

There  was  a  strained  pause,  then  again  Loder  lifted 
his  head. 

"Morphia?"  he  said,  very  quietly. 

Chilcote  wheeled  round  with  a  scared  gesture.  "  How 
did  you  know  that?"  he  asked,  sharply. 

The  other  smiled.  "It  wasn't  guessing — it  wasn't 
even  deduction.  You  told  me,  or  as  good  as  told 
me,  in  the  fog — when  we  talked  of  Lexington.  You 
were  unstrung  that  night,  and  I —  Well,  perhaps  one 
gets  over  -  observant  from  living  alone."  He  smiled 
again. 

Chilcote  collapsed  into  his  former  seat  and  passed 
his  handkerchief  across  his  forehead. 

Loder  watched  him  for  a  space;  then  he  spoke. 
"Why  don't  you  pull  up?"  he  said.  'You  are  a 
young  man  still.  Why  don't  you  drop  the  thing  before 
it  gets  too  late?"  His  face  was  unsympathetic,  and 
below  the  question  in  his  voice  lay  a  note  of  hard- 
ness. 

Chilcote  returned  his  glance.     The  suggestion  of  re- 

44 


THE    MASQUERADER 

proof  had  accentuated  his  pallor.  Under  his  excite- 
ment he  looked  ill  and  worn. 

"You  might  talk  till  doomsday,  but  every  word 
would  be  wasted,"  he  said,  irritably.  "I'm  past  pray- 
ing for,  by  something  like  six  years." 

"Then  why  come  here?"  Loder  was  pulling  hard 
on  his  pipe.     "I'm  not  a  dealer  in  sympathy." 

"I  don't  require  sympathy."  Chilcote  rose  again. 
He  was  still  agitated,  but  the  agitation  was  quieter. 
' '  I  want  a  much  more  expensive  thing  than  sympathy 
— and  I  am  willing  to  pay  for  it." 

The  other  turned  and  looked  at  him.  "I  have  no 
possession  in  the  world  that  would  be  worth  a  fiver  to 
you,"  he  said,  coldly.  "You're  either  under  a  delusion 
or  you're  wasting  my  time." 

Chilcote  laughed  nervously.  "Wait,"  he  said. 
"Wait.  I  only  ask  you  to  wait.  First  let  me  sketch 
you  my  position — it  won't  take  many  words: 

"My  grandfather  was  a  Chilcote  of  Westmoreland; 
he  was  one  of  the  first  of  his  day  and  his  class  to  recog- 
nize that  there  was  a  future  in  trade,  so,  breaking  his 
own  little  twig  from  the  family  tree,  he  went  south  to 
Wark  and  entered  a  ship  -  owning  firm.  In  thirty 
years'  time  he  died,  the  owner  of  one  of  the  biggest 
trades  in  England,  having  married  the  daughter  of  his 
chief.  My  father  was  twenty -four  and  still  at  Oxford 
when  he  inherited.  Almost  his  first  act  was  to  reverse 
my  grandfather's  early  move  by  going  north  and  piec- 
ing together  the  family  friendship.  He  married  his 
first  cousin;  and  then,  with  the  Chilcote  prestige  re- 
vived and  the  shipping  money  to  back  it,  he  entered 
on  his  ambition,  which  was  to  represent  East  Wark  in 
the  Conservative  interest.     It  was  a  big  fight,  but  he 

45 


THE    MASQUERADER 

won — as  much  by  personal  influence  as  by  any  other. 
He  was  an  aristocrat,  but  he  was  a  keen  business-man 
as  well.  The  combination  carries  weight  with  your 
lower  classes.  He  never  did  much  in  the  House,  but 
he  was  a  power  to  his  party  in  Wark.  They  still  use 
his  name  there  to  conjure  with." 

Loder  leaned  forward  interestedly. 

"Robert  Chilcote  ?"  he  said.  "  I  have  heard  of  him. 
One  of  those  fine,  unostentatious  figures — strong  in 
action,  a  little  narrow  in  outlook,  perhaps,  but  essen- 
tial to  a  country's  staying  power.  You  have  every 
reason  to  be  proud  of  your  father." 

Chilcote  laughed  suddenly.  "How  easily  we  sum 
up,  when  a  matter  is  impersonal !  My  father  may  have 
been  a  fine  figure,  but  he  shouldn't  have  left  me  to 
climb  to  his  pedestal." 

Loder's  eyes  questioned.  In  his  newly  awakened 
interest  he  had  let  his  pipe  go  out. 

"Don't  you  grasp  my  meaning?"  Chilcote  went  on. 
"My  father  died  and  I  was  elected  for  East  Wark. 
You  may  say  that  if  I  had  no  real  inclination  for  the 
position  I  could  have  kicked.  But  I  tell  you  I  couldn't. 
Every  local  interest,  political  and  commercial,  hung 
upon  the  candidate  being  a  Chilcote.  I  did  what  eight 
men  out  of  ten  would  have  done.  I  yielded  to  press- 
ure." 

"It  was  a  fine  opening!"  The  words  escaped 
Loder. 

"Most  prisons  have  wide  gates!"  Chilcote  laughed 
again  unpleasantly.  "That  was  six  years  ago.  I  had 
started  on  the  morphia  tack  four  years  earlier,  but  up 
to  my  father's  death  I  had  it  under  my  thumb — or  be- 
lieved I  had ;  and  in  the  realization  of  my  new  responsi- 

46 


THE    MASQUERADER 

bilities  and  the  excitement  of  the  political  fight  I  almost 
put  it  aside.  For  several  months  after  I  entered  Par- 
liament I  worked.  I  believe  I  made  one  speech  that 
marked  me  as  a  coming  man."  He  laughed  derisively. 
"I  even  married — " 

"Married?" 

"Yes.  A  girl  of  nineteen — the  ward  of  a  great  states- 
man. It  was  a  brilliant  marriage — politically  as  well 
as  socially.  But  it  didn't  work.  I  was  born  without 
the  capacity  for  love.  First  the  social  life  palled  on 
me;  then  my  work  grew  irksome.  There  was  only  one 
factor  to  make  life  endurable — morphia.  Before  six 
months  were  out  I  had  fully  admitted  that." 

"But  your  wife?" 

"Oh,  my  wife  knew  nothing — knows  nothing.  It  is 
the  political  business,  the  beastly  routine  of  the  political 
life,  that  is  wearing  me  out."  He  stopped  nervously, 
then  hurried  on  again.  "I  tell  you  it's  hell  to  see  the 
same  faces,  to  sit  in  the  same  seat  day  in,  day  out, 
knowing  all  the  time  that  you  must  hold  yourself  in 
hand,  must  keep  your  grip  on  the  reins — " 

"It  is  always  possible  to  apply  for  the  Chiltern  Hun- 
dreds." 

"To  retire  ?  Possible  to  retire  ?"  Chilcote  broke  into 
a  loud,  sarcastic  laugh.  "You  don't  know  what  the 
local  pressure  of  a  place  like  Wark  stands  for.  Twenty 
times  I  have  been  within  an  ace  of  chucking  the  whole 
thing.  Once  last  year  I  wrote  privately  to  Vale,  one  of 
our  big  men  there,  and  hinted  that  my  health  was  bad. 
Two  hours  after  he  had  read  my  letter  he  was  in  my 
study.  Had  I  been  in  Greenland  the  result  would  have 
been  the  same.  No.  Resignation  is  a  meaningless 
word  to  a  man  like  me." 

47 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Loder  looked  down.  "I  see,"  he  said,  slowly,  "1 
see." 

"Then  you  see  everything — the  difficulty,  the  isola- 
tion of  the  position.  Five  years  ago — three — even  two 
years  ago — I  was  able  to  endure  it;  now  it  gets  more 
unbearable  with  every  month.  The  day  is  bound  to 
come  when — when" — he  paused,  hesitating  nervously 
— "when  it  will  be  physically  impossible  for  me  to  be 
at  my  post." 

Loder  remained  silent. 

"Physically  impossible,"  Chilcote  repeated,  excited- 
ly. "Until  lately  I  was  able  to  calculate — to  count 
upon  myself  to  some  extent;  but  yesterday  I  received 
a  shock — yesterday  I  discovered  that — that" — again 
he  hesitated  painfully — "that  I  have  passed  the  stage 
when  one  may  calculate." 

The  situation  was  growing  more  embarrassing.  To 
hide  its  awkwardness,  Loder  moved  back  to  the  grate 
and  rebuilt  the  fire,  which  had  fallen  low. 

Chilcote,  still  excited  by  his  unusual  vehemence, 
followed  him,  taking  up  a  position  by  the  mantel- 
piece. 

"Well?"  he  said,  looking  down. 

Very  slowly  Loder  rose  from  his  task.  "Well?"  he 
reiterated. 

"Have  you  nothing  to  say?" 

"  Nothing,  except  that  your  story  is  unique,  and  that 
I  suppose  I  am  nattered  by  your  confidence."  His 
voice  was  intentionally  brusque. 

Chilcote  paid  no  attention  to  the  voice.  Taking  a 
step  forward,  he  laid  his  fingers  on  the  lapel  of  Loder's 
coat. 

"I  have  passed  the  stage  where  I  can  count  upon 

4-8 


THE    MASQUERADER 

myself,"  he  said,  "and  I  want  to  count  upon  somebody 
else.  I  want  to  keep  my  place  in  the  world's  eyes  and 
yet  be  free — " 

Loder  drew  back  involuntarily,  contempt  struggling 
with  bewilderment  in  his  expression. 

Chilcote  lifted  his  head.  "By  an  extraordinary 
chance,"  he  said,  "you  can  do  for  me  what  no  other 
man  in  creation  could  do.  It  was  suggested  to  me  un- 
consciously by  the  story  of  a  book — a  book  in  which 
men  change  identities.  I  saw  nothing  in  it  at  the  time, 
but  this  morning,  as  I  lay  in  bed,  sick  with  yesterday's 
fiasco,  it  came  back  to  me — it  rushed  over  my  mind  in 
an  inspiration.  It  will  save  me — and  make  you.  I'm 
not  insulting  you,  though  you'd  like  to  think  so." 

Without  remark  Loder  freed  himself  from  the  other's 
touch  and  walked  back  to  his  desk.  His  anger,  his 
pride,  and,  against  his  will,  his  excitement  were  all 
aroused. 

He  sat  down,  leaned  his  elbow  on  the  desk,  and  took 
his  face  between  his  hands.  The  man  behind  him  un- 
doubtedly talked  madness ;  but  after  five  years  of  dreary 
sanity  madness  had  a  fascination.  Against  all  reason 
it  stirred  and  roused  him.  For  one  instant  his  pride  and 
his  anger  faltered  before  it,  then  common-sense  flowed 
back  again  and  adjusted  the  balance. 

"You  propose,"  he  said,  slowly,  "that  for  a  consider- 
ation of  money  I  should  trade  on  the  likeness  between 
us — and  become  your  dummy,  when  you  are  otherwise 
engaged?" 

Chilcote  colored.  "You  are  unpleasantly  blunt." 
he  said. 

"But  I  have  caught  your  meaning?" 

"In  the  rough,  yes." 

49 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Locler  nodded  curtly.  "Then  take  my  advice  and 
go  home,"  he  said.     "You're  unhinged." 

The  other  returned  his  glance,  and  as  their  eyes  met 
Loder  was  reluctantly  compelled  to  admit  that,  though 
the  face  was  disturbed,  it  had  no  traces  of  insanity. 

"I  make  you  a  proposal,"  Chilcote  repeated,  ner- 
vously but  with  distinctness.     "Do  you  accept?" 

For  an  instant  Loder  was  at  a  loss  to  find  a  reply 
sufficiently  final.     Chilcote  broke  in  upon  the  pause. 

"After  all,"  he  urged,  "what  I  ask  of  you  is  a  simple 
thing.  Merely  to  carry  through  my  routine  duties 
for  a  week  or  two  occasionally  when  I  find  my  endur- 
ance giving  way — when  a  respite  becomes  essential. 
The  work  would  be  nothing  to  a  man  in  your  state  of 
mind,  the  pay  anything  you  like  to  name."  In  his 
eagerness  he  had  followed  Loder  to  the  desk.  "Won't 
you  give  me  an  answer  ?  I  told  you  I  am  neither  mad 
nor  drunk." 

Loder  pushed  back  the  scattered  papers  that  lay 
under  his  arm. 

"Only  a  lunatic  would  propose  such  a  scheme,"  he 
said,  brusquelv  and  without  feeling. 

"Why?" 

The  other's  lips  parted  for  a  quick  retort;  then  in  a 
surprising  way  the  retort  seemed  to  fail  him.  "Oh, 
because  the  thing  isn't  feasible,  isn't  practicable  from 
any  point  of  view." 

Chilcote  stepped  closer.     "Why?"  he  insisted. 

"Because  it  couldn't  work,  man!  Couldn't  hold  for 
a  dozen  hours." 

Chilcote  put  out  his  hand  and  touched  his  arm. 
"But  why  ?"  he  urged.  "Why?  Give  me  one  unan- 
swerable reason." 

5° 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Loder  shook  off  the  hand  and  laughed,  but  below  his 
laugh  lay  a  suggestion  of  the  other's  excitement.  Again 
the  scene  stirred  him  against  his  sounder  judgment; 
though  his  reply,  when  it  came,  was  firm  enough. 

"As  for  reasons — "  he  said.  "There  are  a  hundred, 
if  I  had  time  to  name  them.  Take  it,  for  the  sake  of 
supposition,  that  I  were  to  accept  your  offer.  I  should 
take  my  place  in  your  house  at — let  us  say  at  dinner- 
time. Your  man  gets  me  into  your  evening-clothes, 
and  there,  at  the  very  start,  you  have  the  first  sus- 
picion set  up.  He  has  probably  known  you  for  years 
— known  you  until  every  turn  of  your  appearance, 
voice,  and  manner  is  far  more  familiar  to  him  than  it  is 
to  you.     There  are  no  eyes  like  a  servant's." 

"I  have  thought  of  that.  My  servant  and  my  sec- 
retary can  both  be  changed.  I  will  do  the  thing  thor- 
oughly." 

Loder  glanced  at  him  in  surprise.  The  madness  had 
more  method  than  he  had  believed.  Then,  as  he  still 
looked,  a  fresh  idea  struck  him,  and  he  laughed. 

"You  have  entirely  forgotten  one  thing,"  he  said. 
"You  can  hardly  dismiss  your  wife." 

"My  wife  doesn't  count." 

Again  Loder  laughed.  "  I'm  afraid  I  scarcely  agree. 
The  complications  would  be  slightly— slightly — "  He 
paused. 

Chilcote's  latent  irritability  broke  out  suddenly. 
"Look  here,"  he  said,  "this  isn't  a  chaffing  matter. 
It  may  be  moonshine  to  you,  but  it's  reality  to  me." 

Again  Loder  took  his  face  between  his  hands. 

"Don't  ridicule  the  idea.     I'm  in  dead  earnest." 

Loder  said  nothing. 

"Think — think  it  over  before  you  refuse." 

5i 


THE    MASQUERADER 

For  a  moment  Loder  remained  motionless;  then  he 
rose  suddenly,  pushing  back  his  chair. 

"Tush,  man!  You  don't  know  what  you  say.  The 
fact  of  your  being  married  bars  it.    Can't  you  see  that  ?" 

Again  Chilcote  caught  his  arm. 

"You  misunderstand,"  he  said.  "You  mistake  the 
position.  I  tell  you  my  wife  and  I  are  nothing  to  each 
other.  She  goes  her  way;  I  go  mine.  We  have  our 
own  friends,  our  own  rooms.  Marriage,  actual  mar- 
riage, doesn't  enter  the  question.  We  meet  occasion- 
ally at  meals,  and  at  other  people's  houses;  sometimes 
we  go  out  together  for  the  sake  of  appearances;  be- 
yond that,  nothing.  If  you  take  up  my  life,  nobody 
in  it  will  trouble  you  less  than  Eve — I  can  promise 
that."     He  laughed  unsteadily. 

Loder's  face  remained  unmoved. 

"Even  granting  that,"  he  said,  "the  thing  is  still 
impossible." 

"Why?" 

"There  is  the  House.  The  position  there  would  be 
untenable.  A  man  is  known  there  as  he  is  known  in 
his  own  club."     He  drew  away  from  Chilcote's  touch. 

"Very  possibly.  Very  possibly."  Chilcote  laughed 
quickly  and  excitedly.  "  But  what  club  is  without  its 
eccentric  member?  I  am  glad  you  spoke  of  that.  I 
am  glad  you  raised  that  point.  It  was  a  long  time  ago 
that  I  hit  upon  a  reputation  for  moods  as  a  shield  for — 
for  other  things,  and,  the  more  useful  it  has  become,  the 
more  I  have  let  it  grow.  I  tell  you  you  might  go  down 
to  the  House  to-morrow  and  spend  the  whole  day  with- 
out speaking  to,  even  nodding  to,  a  single  man,  and  as 
long  as  you  were  I  to  outward  appearances  no  one 
would  raise  an  eyebrow.     In  the  same  way  you  might 

52 


THE    MASQUERADER 

vote  in  my  place,  ask  a  question,  make  a  speech  if  you 
wanted  to — " 

At  the  word  speech  Loder  turned  involuntarily. 
For  a  fleeting  second  the  coldness  of  his  manner  dropped 
and  his  face  changed. 

Chilcote,  with  his  nervous  quickness  of  perception, 
saw  the  alteration,  and  a  new  look  crossed  his  own 
face. 

"Why  not?"  he  said,  quickly.  "You  once  had  am- 
bitions in  that  direction.  Why  not  renew  the  am- 
bitions?" 

"And  drop  back  from  the  mountains  into  the  gut- 
ter?"    Loder  smiled  and  slowly  shook  his  head. 

"Better  to  live  for  one  day  than  to  exist  for  a  hun- 
dred!" Chilcote's  voice  trembled  with  anxiety.  For 
the  third  time  he  extended  his  hand  and  touched  the 
other. 

This  time  Loder  did  not  shake  off  the  detaining 
hand ;  he  scarcely  seemed  to  feel  its  pressure. 

"Look  here."  Chilcote's  fingers  tightened.  "A  lit- 
tle while  ago  you  talked  of  influence.  Here  you  can 
step  into  a  position  built  by  influence.  You  might  do 
all  you  once  hoped  to  do — " 

Loder  suddenly  lifted  his  head.  "Absurd!"  he  said. 
"  Absurd !     Such  a  scheme  was  never  carried  through." 

"Precisely  why  it  will  succeed.  People  never  sus- 
pect until  they  have  a  precedent.  Will  you  consider  it  ? 
At  least  consider  it.  Remember,  if  there  is  a  risk,  it  is 
I  who  am  running  it.  On  your  own  showing,  you  have 
no  position  to  jeopardize." 

The  other  laughed  curtly. 

"Before  I  go  to-night  will  you  promise  me  to  con- 
sider it?" 

53 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"No." 

"Then  you  will  send  me  your  decision  by  wire  to- 
morrow.    I  won't  take  your  answer  now." 

Loder  freed  his  arm  abruptly.  "Why  not?"  he 
asked. 

Chilcote  smiled  nervously.  "Because  I  know  men 
— and  men's  temptations.  We  are  all  very  strong  till 
the  quick  is  touched ;  then  we  all  wince.  It's  morphia 
with  one  man,  ambitions  with  another.  In  each  case 
it's  only  a  matter  of  sooner  or  later."  He  laughed  in 
his  satirical,  unstrung  way,  and  held  out  his  hand. 
"You  have  my  address,"  he  said.     "Au  revoir." 

Loder  pressed  the  hand  and  dropped  it.  "Good- 
bye," he  said,  meaningly.  Then  he  crossed  the  room 
quietly  and  held  the  door  open.  "Good-bye,"  he  said 
again  as  the  other  passed  him. 

As  he  crossed  the  threshold,  Chilcote  paused.  "Au 
revoir,"  he  corrected,  with  emphasis. 

Until  the  last  echo  of  his  visitor's  steps  had  died 
away  Loder  stood  with  his  hand  on  the  door;  then,  clos- 
ing it  quietly,  he  turned  and  looked  round  the  room. 
For  a  considerable  space  he  stood  there  as  if  weighing 
the  merits  of  each  object;  then  very  slowly  he  moved 
to  one  of  the  book-shelves,  drew  out  May's  Parlia- 
mentary Practice,  and,  carrying  it  to  the  desk,  read- 
justed the  lamp. 


VI 

ALL  the  next  day  Chilcote  moved  in  a  fever  of  ex- 
J~\  citement.  Hot  with  hope  one  moment,  cold  with 
fever  the  next,  he  rushed  with  restless  energy  into  every 
task  that  presented  itself — only  to  drop  it  as  speedily. 
Twice  during  the  morning  he  drove  to  the  entrance  of 
Clifford's  Inn,  but  each  time  his  courage  failed  him  and 
he  returned  to  Grosvenor  Square — to  learn  that  the 
expected  message  from  Loder  had  not  come. 

It  was  a  wearing  condition  of  mind;  but  at  worst  it 
was  scarcely  more  than  an  exaggeration  of  what  his 
state  had  been  for  months,  and  made  but  little  obvious 
difference  in  his  bearing  or  manner. 

In  the  afternoon  he  took  his  place  in  the  House,  but, 
though  it  was  his  first  appearance  since  his  failure  of 
two  days  ago,  he  drew  but  small  personal  notice.  When 
he  chose,  his  manner  could  repel  advances  with  ex- 
treme effect,  and  of  late  men  had  been  prone  to  draw 
away  from  him. 

In  one  of  the  lobbies  he  encountered  Fraide  surround- 
ed by  a  group  of  friends.  With  his  usual  furtive  haste 
he  would  have  passed  on;  but,  moving  away  from  his 
party,  the  old  man  accosted  him.  He  was  always  cour- 
teously particular  in  his  treatment  of  Chilcote,  as  the 
husband  of  his  ward  and  godchild. 

"Better,  Chilcote?"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand. 

At  the  sound  of  the  low,  rather  formal  tones,  so 

55 


THE    MASQUERADER 

characteristic  of  the  old  statesman,  a  hundred  memo- 
ries rose  to  Chilcote's  mind,  a  hundred  hours,  distaste- 
ful in  the  living  and  unbearable  in  the  recollection ;  and 
with  them  the  new  flash  of  hope,  the  new  possibility  of 
freedom.  In  a  sudden  rush  of  confidence  he  turned  to 
his  leader. 

"I  believe  I've  found  a  remedy  for  my  nerves,"  he 
said.  "  I — I  believe  I'm  going  to  be  a  new  man."  He 
laughed  with  a  touch  of  excitement. 

Fraide  pressed  his  fingers  kindly.  "That  is  right," 
he  said.  "  That  is  right.  I  called  at  Grosvenor  Square 
this  morning,  but  Eve  told  me  your  illness  of  the  other 
day  was  not  serious.  She  was  very  busy  this  morning 
— she  could  only  spare  me  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  She 
is  indefatigable  over  the  social  side  of  your  prospects, 
Chilcote.  You  owe  her  a  large  debt.  A  popular  wife 
means  a  great  deal  to  a  politician." 

The  steady  eyes  of  his  companion  disturbed  Chilcote. 

He  drew  away  his  hand. 

"Eve  is  unique,"  he  said,  vaguely. 

Fraide  smiled.  "That  is  right,"  he  said,  again. 
"Admiration  is  too  largely  excluded  from  modern  mar- 
riages." And  with  a  courteous  excuse  he  rejoined  his 
friends. 

It  was  dinner-time  before  Chilcote  could  desert  the 
House,  but  the  moment  departure  was  possible  he  hur- 
ried to  Grosvenor  Square. 

As  he  entered  the  house,  the  hall  was  empty.  He 
swore  irritably  under  his  breath  and  pressed  the  near- 
est bell.  Since  his  momentary  exaltation  in  Fraide's 
presence,  his  spirits  had  steadily  fallen,  until  now  they 
hung  at  the  lowest  ebb. 

As  he  waited  in  unconcealed  impatience  for  an  an- 

56 


THE    MASQUERADER 

swer  to  his  summons,  he  caught  sight  of  his  man  Allsopp 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

"Come  here!"  he  called,  pleased  to  find  some  one 
upon  whom  to  vent  his  irritation.  "Has  that  wire 
come  for  me?" 

"No,  sir.     I  inquired  five  minutes  back." 

"Inquire  again." 

"Yes,  sir."     Allsopp  disappeared. 

A  second  after  his  disappearance  the  bell  of  the  hall 
door  whizzed  loudly. 

Chilcote  started.  All  sudden  sounds,  like  all  strong 
lights,  affected  him.  He  half  moved  to  the  door,  then 
stopped  himself  with  a  short  exclamation.  At  the 
same  instant  Allsopp  reappeared. 

Chilcote  turned  on  him  excitedly. 

"What  the  devil's  the  meaning  of  this?"  he  said. 
"A  battery  of  servants  in  the  house  and  nobody  to 
open  the  hall  door!" 

Allsopp  looked  embarrassed.  "Crapham  is  coming 
directly,  sir.     He  only  left  the  hall  to  ask  Jeffries — " 

Chilcote  turned.  "Confound  Crapham!"  he  ex- 
claimed.    "Go  and  open  the  door  yourself." 

Allsopp  hesitated,  his  dignity  struggling  with  his 
obedience.     As  he  waited,  the  bell  sounded  again. 

"Did  you  hear  me?"  Chilcote  said. 

"Yes,  sir."     Allsopp  crossed  the  hall. 

As  the  door  was  opened  Chilcote  passed  his  handker- 
chief from  one  hand  to  the  other  in  the  tension  of  hope 
and  fear;  then,  as  the  sound  of  his  own  name  in  the 
shrill  tones  of  a  telegraph-boy  reached  his  ears,  he  let 
the  handkerchief  drop  to  the  ground. 

Allsopp  took  the  yellow  envelope  and  carried  it  to 
his  master. 

5  S7 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"A  telegram,  sir,"  he  said.  "And  the  boy  wishes  to 
know  if  there  is  an  answer."  Picking  up  Chilcote's 
handkerchief,  he  turned  aside  with  elaborate  dig- 
nity. 

Chilcote's  hands  were  so  unsteady  that  he  could 
scarcely  insert  his  finger  under  the  flap  of  the  envelope. 
Tearing  off  a  corner,  he  wrenched  the  covering  apart 
and  smoothed  out  the  flimsy  pink  paper. 

The  message  was  very  simple,  consisting  of  but 
seven  words: 

"  Shall  expect  you  at  eleven  to-night. — Loder." 

He  read  it  two  or  three  times,  then  he  looked  up. 
"No  answer,"  he  said,  mechanically,  and  to  his  own 
ears  the  relief  in  his  voice  sounded  harsh  and  unnat- 
ural. 

Exactly  as  the  clocks  chimed  eleven  Chilcote  mount- 
ed the  stairs  to  Loder's  rooms.  But  this  time  there  was 
more  of  haste  than  of  uncertainty  in  his  steps,  and, 
reaching  the  landing,  he  crossed  it  in  a  couple  of  strides 
and  knocked  feverishly  on  the  door. 

It  opened  at  once,  and  Loder  stood  before  him. 

The  occasion  was  peculiar.  For  a  moment  neither 
spoke ;  each  involuntarily  looked  at  the  other  with  new 
eyes  and  under  changed  conditions.  Each  had  as- 
sumed a  fresh  stand-point  in  the  other's  thought. 
The  passing  astonishment,  the  half-impersonal  curi- 
osity that  had  previously  tinged  their  relationship, 
was  cast  aside,  never  to  be  reassumed.  In  each,  the 
other  saw  himself — and  something  more. 

As  usual,  Loder  was  the  first  to  recover  himself. 

58 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"I  was  expecting  you,"  he  said.  "Won't  you  come 
in?" 

The  words  were  almost  the  same  as  his  words  of  the 
night  before,  but  his  voice  had  a  different  ring;  just  as 
his  face,  when  he  drew  back  into  the  room,  had  a  differ- 
ent expression — a  suggestion  of  decision  and  energy 
that  had  been  lacking  before.  Chilcote  caught  the 
difference  as  he  crossed  the  threshold,  and  for  a  bare 
second  a  flicker  of  something  like  jealousy  touched  him. 
But  the  sensation  was  fleeting. 

"I  have  to  thank  you!"  he  said,  holding  out  his 
hand.  He  was  too  well  bred  to  show  by  a  hint  that 
he  understood  the  drop  in  the  other's  principles.  But 
Loder  broke  down  the  artifice. 

"Let's  be  straight  with  each  other,  since  every- 
body else  has  to  be  deceived,"  he  said,  taking  the 
other's  hand.  'You  have  nothing  to  thank  me 
for,  and  you  know  it.  It's  a  touch  of  the  old  Adam. 
You  tempted  me,  and  I  fell."  He  laughed,  but  below 
the  laugh  ran  a  note  of  something  like  triumph — the 
curious  triumph  of  a  man  who  has  known  the  tyranny 
of  strength  and  suddenly  appreciates  the  freedom  of  a 
weakness. 

"You  fully  realize  the  thing  you  have  proposed  ?"  he 
added,  in  a  different  tone.  "It's  not  too  late  to  re- 
tract, even  now." 

Chilcote  opened  his  lips,  paused,  then  laughed  in 
imitation  of  his  companion;  but  the  laugh  sounded 
forced. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  he  said  at  last,  "I  never  retract." 

"Never?" 

"No." 

"Then  the  bargain's  sealed." 

59 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Loder  walked  slowly  across  the  room,  and,  taking  up 
his  position  by  the  mantel-piece,  looked  at  his  com- 
panion. The  similarity  between  them  as  they  faced 
each  other  seemed  abnormal,  defying  even  the  closest 
scrutiny.  And  yet,  so  mysterious  is  Nature  even  in  her 
lapses,  they  were  subtly,  indefinably  different.  Chil- 
cote  was  Loder  deprived  of  one  essential;  Loder,  Chil- 
cote  with  that  essential  bestowed.  The  difference  lay 
neither  in  feature,  in  coloring,  nor  in  height,  but  in  that 
baffling,  illusive  inner  illumination  that  some  call  in- 
dividuality, and  others  soul. 

Something  of  this  idea,  misted  and  tangled  by  ner- 
vous  imagination,  crossed  Chilcote's  mind  in  that  mo- 
ment of  scrutiny,  but  he  shrank  from  it  apprehen- 
sively. 

"I — I  came  to  discuss  details,"8  he  said,  quickly, 
crossing  the  space  that  divided  him  from  his  host. 
"Shall  we — ?     Are  you — ?"     He  paused  uneasily. 

"I'm  entirely  in  your  hands."  Loder  spoke  with 
abrupt  decision.  Moving  to  the  table,  he  indicated  a 
chair,  and  drew  another  forward  for  himself. 

Both  men  sat  down. 

Chilcote  leaned  forward,  resting  elbows  on  the  table. 
"There  will  be  several  things  to  consider — "  he  began, 
nervously,  looking  across  at  the  other. 

"Quite  so."  Loder  glanced  back  appreciatively. 
"I  thought  about  those  things  the  better  part  of  last 
night.  To  begin  with,  I  must  study  your  handwriting. 
I  guarantee  to  get  it  right,  but  it  will  take  a  month." 

"A  month!" 

"Well,  perhaps  three  weeks.  We  mustn't  make  a 
mess  of  things." 

Chilcote  shifted  his  position. 

60 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"Three  weeks!"  he  repeated.     "Couldn't  you—?" 

"No;  I  couldn't."  Loder  spoke  authoritatively. 
"I  might  never  want  to  put  pen  to  paper,  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  I  might  have  to  sign  a  check  one  day." 
He  laughed.  "Have  you  ever  thought  of  that? — that 
I  might  have  to,  or  want  to,  sign  a  check?" 

"No.     I  confess  that  escaped  me." 

"You  risk  your  fortune  that  you  may  keep  the  place 
it  bought  for  you  ?"  Loder  laughed  again.  "  How  do 
you  know  that  I  am  not  a  blackguard?"  he  added. 
"  How  do  you  know  that  I  won't  clear  out  one  day  and 
leave  you  high  and  dry  ?  What  is  to  prevent  John  Chil- 
cote  from  realizing  forty  or  fifty  thousand  pounds  and 
then  making  himself  scarce?" 

"You  won't  do  that,"  Chilcote  said,  with  unusual 
decision.  "I  told  you  your  weakness  last  night;  and 
it  wasn't  money.  Money  isn't  the  rock  you'll  split 
over." 

"Then  you  think  I'll  split  upon  some  rock?  But 
that's  beyond  the  question.  To  get  to  business  again. 
You'll  risk  my  studying  your  signature?" 

Chilcote  nodded. 

"Right!  Now  item  two."  Loder  counted  on  his 
fingers.  "I  must  know  the  names  and  faces  of  your 
men  friends  as  far  as  I  can.  Your  woman  friends  don't 
count.  While  I'm  you,  you  will  be  adamant."  He 
laughed  again  pleasantly.  "  But  the  men  are  essential 
■ — the  backbone  of  the  whole  business." 

"I  have  no  men  friends.  I  don't  trust  the  idea  of 
friendship." 

"Acquaintances,  then." 

Chilcote  looked  up  sharply.  "I  think  we  score 
there,"  he  said.     "I  have  a  reputation  for  absent- 

61 


THE    MASQUERADER 

mindedness  that  will  carry  you  anywhere.  They  tell 
me  I  can  look  through  the  most  substantial  man  in  the 
House  as  if  he  were  gossamer,  though  I  may  have 
lunched  with  him  the  same  day." 

Loder  smiled.  "By  Jove!"  he  exclaimed.  "Fate 
must  have  been  constructing  this  before  either  of  us 
was  born.  It  dovetails  ridiculously.  But  I  must 
know  your  colleagues — even  if  it's  only  to  cut  them. 
You'll  have  to  take  me  to  the  House." 

"Impossible!" 

"Not  at  all!"  Again  the  tone  of  authority  fell  to 
Loder.  "I  can  pull  my  hat  over  my  eyes  and  turn  up 
my  coat -collar.  Nobody  will  notice  me.  We  can 
choose  the  fall  of  the  afternoon.  I  promise  you  'twill 
be  all  right." 

"  Suppose  the  likeness  should  leak  out  ?     It's  a  risk." 

Loder  laughed  confidently.  "Tush,  man!  Risk  is 
the  salt  of  life.  I  must  see  you  at  your  post,  and  I 
must  see  the  men  you  work  with."  He  rose,  walked 
across  the  room,  and  took  his  pipe  from  the  rack. 
"  When  I  go  in  for  a  thing,  I  like  to  go  in  over  head  and 
ears,"  he  added,  as  he  opened  his  tobacco-jar. 

His  pipe  filled,  he  resumed  his  seat,  resting  his  elbows 
on  the  table  in  unconscious  imitation  of  Chilcote. 

"Got  a  match?"  he  said,  laconically,  holding  out  his 
hand. 

In  response  Chilcote  drew  his  match-box  from  his 
pocket  and  struck  a  light.  As  their  hands  touched,  an 
exclamation  escaped  him. 

"  By  Jove!"  he  said,  with  a  fretful  mixture  of  disap- 
pointment and  surprise.  "I  hadn't  noticed  that!" 
His  eyes  were  fixed  in  annoyed  interest  on  Loder's  ex- 
tended hand. 

62 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Loder,  following  his  glance,  smiled.  "Odd  that  w& 
should  both  have  overlooked  it!  It  clean  escaped  my 
mind.  It's  rather  an  ugly  scar."  He  lifted  his  hand 
till  the  light  fell  more  fully  on  it.  Above  the  second 
joint  of  the  third  finger  ran  a  jagged  furrow,  the  re- 
minder of  a  wound  that  had  once  laid  bare  the  bone. 

Chilcote  leaned  forward.  "How  did  you  come  by 
it?"  he  asked. 

The  other  shrugged  his  shoulders.     "Oh,  that's  an 
cient  history." 

"The  results  are  present-day  enough.  It's  very  awk- 
ward! Very  annoying!"  Chilcote's  spirits,  at  all  times 
overeasily  played  upon,  were  damped  by  this  obstacle. 

Loder,  still  looking  at  his  hand,  didn't  seem  to  hear. 
"There's  only  one  thing  to  be  done,"  he  said.  "  Each 
wear  two  rings  on  the  third  finger  of  the  left  hand. 
Two  rings  ought  to  cover  it."  He  made  a  speculative 
measurement  with  the  stem  of  his  pipe. 

Chilcote  still  looked  irritable  and  disturbed.  "I  de- 
test rings.     I  never  wear  rings." 

Loder  raised  his  eyes  calmly.  "Neither  do  I,"  he 
said.     "But  there's  no  reason  for  bigotry." 

But  Chilcote's  irritability  was  started.  He  pushed 
back  his  chair.     "I  don't  like  the  idea,"  he  said. 

The  other  eyed  him  amusedly.  "What  a  queer  beg- 
gar you  are!"  he  said.  "You  waive  the  danger  of  a 
man  signing  your  checks  and  shy  at  wearing  a  piece  of 
jewelry.  I'll  have  a  fair  share  of  individuality  to 
study." 

Chilcote  moved  restlessly.  "Everybody  knows  I 
detest  jewelry." 

"Everybody  knows  you  are  capricious.  It's  got  to 
be  the  rings  or  nothing,  so  far  as  I  make  out," 

63 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Chilcote  again  altered  his  position,  avoiding  the 
other's  eyes.  At  last,  after  a  struggle  with  himself,  he 
looked  up. 

"I  suppose  you're  right!"  he  said.  "Have  it  your 
own  way."  It  was  the  first  small,  tangible  concession 
to  the  stronger  will. 

Loder  took  his  victory  quietly.  "Good!"  he  said. 
"Then  it's  all  straight  sailing?" 

"  Except  for  the  matter  of  the — the  remuneration." 
Chilcote  hazarded  the  word  uncertainly. 

There  was  a  faint  pause,  then  Loder  laughed  brusque- 
ly.   "My  pay?" 

The  other  was  embarrassed.  "  I  didn't  want  to  put 
it  quite  like  that." 

"But  that  was  what  you  thought.  Why  are  you 
never  honest — even  with  yourself?" 

Chilcote  drew  his  chair  closer  to  the  table.  He  did 
not  attend  to  the  other's  remark,  but  his  fingers  strayed 
to  his  waistcoat  pocket  and  fumbled  there. 

Loder  saw  the  gesture.  "  Look  here,"  he  said,  "you 
are  overtaxing  yourself.  The  affair  of  the  pay  isn't 
pressing;  we'll  shelve  it  to  another  night.  You  look 
tired  out." 

Chilcote  lifted  his  eyes  with  a  relieved  glance. 
"Thanks.  I  do  feel  a  bit  fagged.  If  I  may,  I'll  have 
that  whiskey  that  I  refused  last  night." 

"Why,  certainly."  Loder  rose  at  once  and  crossed 
to  a  cupboard  in  the  wall.  In  silence  he  brought  out 
whiskey,  glasses,  and  a  siphon  of  soda-water.  "Say 
when!"  he  said,  lifting  the  whiskey. 

"Now.  And  I'll  have  plain  water  instead  of  soda, 
if  it's  all  the  same." 

"Oh,  quite."     Loder  recrossed  the  room.     Instantly 

64 


THE    MASQUERADER 

his  back  was  turned,  Chilcote  drew  a  couple  of  tabloids 
from  his  pocket  and  dropped  them  into  his  glass.  As 
the  other  came  slowly  back  he  laughed  nervously. 

"Thanks.  See  to  your  own  drink  now;  I  can  man- 
age this."  He  took  the  jug  unceremoniously,  and,  care- 
fully guarding  his  glass  from  the  light,  poured  in  the 
water  with  excited  haste. 

"What  shall  we  drink  to?"  he  said. 

Loder  methodically  mixed  his  own  drink  and  lifted 
the  glass.  "Oh,  to  the  career  of  John  Chilcote!"  he 
answered. 

For  an  instant  the  other  hesitated.  There  was 
something  prophetic  in  the  sound  of  the  toast.  But 
he  shook  the  feeling  off  and  held  up  his  glass. 

"To  the  career  of  John  Chilcote!"  he  said,  with  an- 
other unsteady  laugh. 


VII 

j[T  was  a  little  less  than  three  weeks  since  Chilcote 
1  and  Loder  had  drunk  their  toast,  and  again  Loder 
was  seated  at  his  desk. 

His  head  was  bent  and  his  hand  moved  carefully  as 
he  traced  line  after  line  of  meaningless  words  on  a  sheet 
of  foolscap.  Having  covered  the  page  with  writing, 
he  rose,  moved  to  the  centre-table,  and  compared  his 
task  with  an  open  letter  that  lay  there.  The  com- 
parison seemed  to  please  him;  he  straightened  his 
shoulders  and  threw  back  his  head  in  an  attitude  of 
critical  satisfaction.  So  absorbed  was  he  that,  when  a 
step  sounded  on  the  stairs  outside,  he  did  not  notice  it, 
and  only  raised  his  head  when  the  door  was  thrown 
open  unceremoniously.  Even  then  his  interest  was 
momentary. 

"  Hullo!"  he  said,  his  eyes  returning  to  their  scrutiny 
of  his  task. 

Chilcote  shut  the  door  and  came  hastily  across  the 
room.  He  looked  ill  and  harassed.  As  he  reached  Loder 
he  put  out  his  hand  nervously  and  touched  his  arm. 

Loder  looked  up.  "What  is  it?"  he  asked.  "Any 
new  development  ?" 

Chilcote  tried  to  smile.  "Yes,"  he  said,  huskily; 
"it's  come." 

Loder  freed  his  arm.  "What?  The  end  of  the 
world?" 

66 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"No.     The  end  of  me."     The  words  came 
the  strain  that  had  enforced  them  showing  in  every 
syllable. 

Still  Loder  was  uncomprehending;  he  could  not,  or 
would  not,  understand. 

Again  Chilcote  caught  and  jerked  at  his  sleeve. 
"Don't  you  see?     Can't  you  see?" 

"No." 

Chilcote  dropped  the  sleeve  and  passed  his  hand- 
kerchief across  his  forehead.  "It's  come,"  he  re- 
peated. "Don't  you  understand?  I  want  you."  He 
drew  away,  then  stepped  back  again  anxiously.  "  I 
know  I'm  taking  you  unawares,"  he  said.  "But  it's 
.not  my  fault.  On  my  soul,  it's  not!  The  thing  seems 
to  spring  at  me  and  grip  me — "  He  stopped,  sinking 
weakly  into  a  chair. 

For  a  moment  Loder  stood  erect  and  immovable; 
then,  almost  with  reluctance,  his  glance  turned  to  the 
figure  beside  him. 

"  You  want  me  to  take  your  place  to-night — without 
preparation?"  His  voice  was  distinct  and  firm,  but  it 
was  free  from  contempt. 

'Yes;  yes,  I  do."  Chilcote  spoke  without  looking 
up. 

"That  you  may  spend  the  night  in  morphia? — this 
and  other  nights?" 

Chilcote  lifted  a  flushed,  unsettled  face.  "You 
have  no  right  to  preach.  You  accepted  the  bar- 
gain." 

Loder  raised  his  head  quickly.  "I  never — "  he  be- 
gan; then  both  his  face  and  voice  altered.  "You  are 
quite  right,"  he  said,  coldly.  "You  won't  have  to 
complain  again." 

67 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Chilcote  stirred  uncomfortably.  "My  dear  chap," 
he  said,  "I  meant  no  offence.     It's  merely — " 

"Your  nerves.  I  know.  But  come  to  business. 
What  am  I  to  do?" 

Chilcote  rose  excitedly.  "Yes,  business.  Let's 
come  to  business.  It's  rough  on  you,  taking  you  short 
like  this.  But  you  have  an  erratic  person  to  deal  with. 
I've  had  a  horrible  day — a  horrible  day."  His  face 
had  paled  again,  and  in  the  green  lamplight  it  possessed 
a  grayish  hue.     Involuntarily  Loder  turned  away. 

Chilcote  watched  him  as  he  passed  to  the  desk  and 
began  mechanically  sorting  papers.  ' '  A  horrible  day ! ' ' 
he  repeated.  "So  bad  that  I  daren't  face  the  night. 
You  have  read  De  Quincey?"  he  asked,  with  a  sudden 
change  of  tone. 

"Yes." 

"Then  read  him  again  and  you'll  understand.  I 
have  all  the  horrors — without  any  art.  I  have  no 
'Ladies  of  Sorrow,'  but  I  have  worse  monsters  than 
his  'crocodile.'"     He  laughed  unpleasantly. 

Loder  turned.  ""Why  in  the  devil's  name — "  he 
began;  then  again  he  halted.  Something  in  Chilcote's 
drawn,  excited  face  checked  him.  The  strange  sense 
of  predestination  that  we  sometimes  see  in  the  eyes  of 
another  struck  cold  upon  him,  chilling  his  last  attempt 
at  remonstrance.  "What  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  he 
substituted,  in  an  ordinary  voice. 

The  words  steadied  Chilcote.  He  laughed  a  little. 
The  laugh  was  still  shaky,  but  it  was  pitched  in  a  lower 
key. 

"You — you're  quite  right  to  pull  me  up.  We  have 
no  time  to  waste.  It  must  be  one  o'clock."  He  pulled 
out  his  watch,  then  walked  to  the  window  and  stood 

68 


THE    MASQUERADER 

looking  down  into  the  shadowy  court.  "How  quiet 
you  are  here!"  he  said.  Then  abruptly  a  new  thought 
struck  him  and  he  wheeled  back  into  the  room.  "Lo- 
der,"  he  said,  quickly — "Loder,  I  have  an  idea! 
While  you  are  me,  why  shouldn't  I  be  you?  Why 
shouldn't  I  be  John  Loder  instead  of  the  vagrant  we 
contemplated  ?  It  covers  everything — it  explains  ev- 
erything. It's  magnificent!  I'm  amazed  we  never 
thought  of  it  before." 

Loder  was  still  beside  the  desk.  "I  thought  of  it," 
he  said,  without  looking  back. 

"And  didn't  suggest  it?" 

"No." 

"Why?" 

Loder  said  nothing  and  the  other  colored. 

"Jealous  of  your  reputation?"  he  said,  satirically. 

"I  have  none  to  be  jealous  of." 

Chilcote  laughed  disagreeably.  "Then  you  aren't 
so  far  gone  in  philosophy  as  I  thought.  You  have  a 
niche  in  your  own  good  opinion." 

Again  Loder  was  silent ;  then  he  smiled.  "  You  have 
an  oddly  correct  perception  at  times,"  he  said.  "I 
suppose  I  have  had  a  lame  sort  of  pride  in  keeping  my 
name  clean.  But  pride  like  that  is  out  of  fashion — 
and  I've  got  to  float  with  the  tide."  He  laughed,  the 
short  laugh  that  Chilcote  had  heard  once  or  twice  be- 
fore, and,  crossing  the  room,  he  stood  beside  his  visitor 
"After  all,"  he  said,  "what  business  have  I  with  pride, 
straight  or  lame?  Have  my  identity,  if  you  want  it. 
When  all  defences  have  been  broken  down  one  bar- 
rier  won't  save  the  town."  Laughing  again,  he  laid 
his  hand  on  the  other's  arm.  "Come,"  he  said,  "give 
your  orders.     I  capitulate." 

69 


THE    MASQUERADER 

An  hour  later  the  two  men  passed  from  Loder's  bed- 
room, where  the  final  arrangements  had  been  com- 
pleted, back  into  the  sitting-room.  Loder  came  first,  in 
faultless  evening-dress.  His  hair  was  carefully  brush- 
ed, the  clothes  he  wore  fitted  him  perfectly.  To  any 
glance,  critical  or  casual,  he  was  the  man  who  had 
mounted  the  stairs  and  entered  the  rooms  earlier  in  the 
evening.  Chilcote's  manner  of  walking  and  poise  of 
the  head  seemed  to  have  descended  upon  him  with 
Chilcote's  clothes.  He  came  into  the  room  hastily  and 
passed  to  the  desk. 

"  I  have  no  private  papers,"  he  said,  "  so  I  have  noth- 
ing to  lock  up.  Everything  can  stand  as  it  is.  A 
woman  named  Robins  comes  in  the  mornings  to  clean 
up  and  light  the  fire ;  otherwise  you  must  shift  for  your- 
self. Nobody  will  disturb  you.  Quiet,  dead  quiet,  is 
about  the  one  thing  you  can  count  on." 

Chilcote,  half  halting  in  the  doorway,  made  an  at- 
tempt to  laugh.  Of  the  two,  he  was  noticeably  the 
more  embarrassed.  In  Loder's  well-worn,  well-brush- 
ed tweed  suit  he  felt  stranded  on  his  own  personality, 
bereft  for  the  moment  of  the  familiar  accessories  that 
helped  to  cloak  deficiencies  and  keep  the  wheel  of  con- 
ventionality comfortably  rolling.  He  stood  unpleas- 
antly conscious  of  himself,  unable  to  shape  his  sensa- 
tions even  in  thought.  He  glanced  at  the  fire,  at  the 
table,  finally  at  the  chair  on  which  he  had  thrown  his 
overcoat  before  entering  the  bedroom.  At  the  sight  of 
the  coat  his  gaze  brightened,  the  aimlessness  forsook 
him,  and  he  gave  an  exclamation  of  relief. 

"By  Jove!"  he  said.     "I  clean  forgot." 

"What?"     Loder  looked  round. 

"The  rings."     He  crossed  to  the  coat  and  thrust  his 

70 


THE    MASQUERADER 

hand  into  the  pocket.  'The  duplicates  only  arrived 
this  afternoon.  The  nick  of  time,  eh  ?"  He  spoke  fast, 
his  fingers  searching  busily.  Occupation  of  any  kind 
came  as  a  boon. 

Loder  slowly  followed  him,  and  as  the  box  was 
brought  to  light  he  leaned  forward  interestedly. 

"As  I  told  you,  one  is  the  copy  of  an  old  signet-ring, 
the  other  a  plain  band — a  plain  gold  band  like  a  wed- 
ding-ring." Chilcote  laughed  as  he  placed  the  four 
rings  side  by  side  on  his  palm.  "  I  could  think  of  noth- 
ing else  that  would  be  wide — and  not  ostentatious. 
You  know  how  I  detest  display." 

Loder  touched  the  rings.  "You  have  good  taste," 
he  said.  "Let's  see  if  they  serve  their  purpose?"  He 
picked  them  up  and  carried  them  to  the  lamp. 

Chilcote  followed  him.  "That  was  an  ugly  wound," 
he  said,  his  curiosity  reawakening  as  Loder  extended 
his  finger.     "How  did  you  come  by  it?" 

The  other  smiled.     "It's  a  memento,"  he  said. 

"Of  bravery?" 

"No.  Quite  the  reverse."  He  looked  again  at  his 
hand,  then  glanced  back  at  Chilcote.  "No,"  he  re- 
peated, with  an  unusual  impulse  of  confidence.  "It 
serves  to  remind  me  that  I  am  not  exempt — that  I 
have  been  fooled  like  other  men." 

"That  implies  a  woman?" 

"Yes."  Again  Loder  looked  at  the  scar  on  his 
finger.  "I  seldom  recall  the  thing,  it's  so  absolutely 
past.  But  I  rather  like  to  remember  it  to-night.  I 
rather  want  you  to  know  that  I've  been  through  the 
fire.     It's  a  sort  of  guarantee." 

Chilcote  made  a  hasty  gesture,  but  the  other  in- 
terrupted it. 

71 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"Oh,  I  know  you  trust  me.  But  you're  giving  me  a, 
risky  post.  I  want  you  to  see  that  women  are  out  of 
my  line — quite  out  of  it." 

"But,  my  clear  chap — " 

Loder  went  on  without  heeding.  "This  thing  hap- 
pened eight  years  ago  at  Santasalare,"  he  said,  "  a  little 
place  between  Luna  and  Pistoria — a  mere  handful  of 
houses  wedged  between  two  hills.  A  regular  relic  of 
old  Italy  crumbling  away  under  flowers  and  sunshine, 
with  nothing  to  suggest  the  present  century  except  the 
occasional  passing  of  a  train  round  the  base  of  one  of 
the  hills.  I  had  literally  stumbled  upon  the  place  on  a 
long  tramp  south  from  Switzerland,  and  had  been 
tempted  into  a  stay  at  the  little  inn.  The  night  after 
my  arrival  something  unusual  occurred.  There  was 
an  accident  to  the  train  at  the  point  where  it  skirted 
the  village. 

"There  was  a  small  excitement;  all  the  inhabitants 
were  anxious  to  help,  and  I  took  my  share.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  the  smash  was  not  disastrous;  the  passen- 
gers were  hurt  and  frightened,  but  nobody  was  killed." 

He  paused  and  looked  at  his  companion,  but,  seeing 
him  interested,  went  on: 

"Among  these  passengers  was  an  English  lady.  Of 
all  concerned  in  the  business,  she  was  the  least  upset. 
When  I  came  upon  her  she  was  sitting  on  the  shattered 
door  of  one  of  the  carriages,  calmly  rearranging  her 
hat.  On  seeing  me  she  looked  up  with  the  most  charm- 
ing  smile  imaginable. 

'I  have  just  been  waiting  for  somebody  like  you,' 
she  said.  '  My  stupid  maid  has  got  herself  smashed  up 
somewhere  in  the  second-class  carriages,  and  I  have 
nobody  to  help  me  to  find  my  dog.' 

72 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"  Of  course,  that  first  speech  ought  to  have  enlightened 
me,  but  it  didn't.  I  only  saw  the  smile  and  heard  the 
voice;  I  knew  nothing  of  whether  they  were  deep  or 
shallow.  So  I  found  the  maid  and  found  the  dog.  The 
first  expressed  gratitude ;  the  other  didn't.  I  extricated 
him  with  enormous  difficulty  from  the  wreck  of  the 
luggage-van,  and  this  was  how  he  marked  his  apprecia- 
tion." He  held  out  his  hand  and  nodded  towards  the 
scar. 

Chilcote  glanced  up.     "So  that's  the  explanation?" 

"Yes.  I  tried  to  conceal  the  thing  when  I  restored 
the  dog,  but  I  was  bleeding  abominably  and  I  failed. 
Then  the  whole  business  was  changed.  It  was  I  who 
needed  seeing  to,  my  new  friend  insisted;  I  who  should 
be  looked  after,  and  not  she.  She  forgot  the  dog  in  the 
newer  interest  of  my  wounded  finger.  The  maid,  who 
was  practically  unhurt,  was  sent  on  to  engage  rooms 
at  the  little  inn,  and  she  and  I  followed  slowly. 

"That  walk  impressed  me.  There  was  an  attractive 
mistiness  of  atmosphere  in  the  warm  night,  a  sensation 
more  than  attractive  in  being  made  much  of  by  a  wom- 
an of  one's  own  class  and  country  after  five  years'  wan- 
dering." He  laughed  with  a  touch  of  irony.  "But  I 
won't  take  up  your  time  with  details.  You  know  the 
progress  of  an  ordinary  love  affair.  Throw  in  a  few 
more  flowers  and  a  little  more  sunshine  than  is  usual, 
a  man  who  is  practically  a  hermit  and  a  woman  who 
knows  the  world  by  heart,  and  you  have  the  whole 
thing. 

"She  insisted  on  staying  in  Santasalare  for  three 
days  in  order  to  keep  my  finger  bandaged ;  she  ended 
by  staying  three  weeks  in  the  hope  of  smashing  up  my 
life. 

«  73 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"On  coming  to  the  hotel  she  had  given  no  name;  and 
in  our  first  explanations  to  each  other  she  led  me  to  con- 
clude her  an  unmarried  girl.  It  was  at  the  end  of  the 
three  weeks  that  I  learned  that  she  was  not  a  free  agent, 
as  I  had  innocently  imagined,  but  possessed  a  husband 
whom  she  had  left  ill  with  malaria  at  Florence  or 
Rome. 

"The  news  disconcerted  me,  and  I  took  no  pains  to 
hide  it.  After  that  the  end  came  abruptly.  In  her 
eyes  I  had  become  a  fool  with  middle-class  principles; 
in  my  eyes —  But  there  is  no  need  for  that.  She  left 
Santasalare  the  same  night  in  a  great  confusion  of 
trunks  and  hat -boxes ;  and  next  morning  I  strapped  on 
my  knapsack  and  turned  my  face  to  the  south." 

"  And  women  don't  count  ever  after  ?"  Chilcote  smiled, 
beguiled  out  of  himself. 

Loder  laughed.  "That's  what  I've  been  trying  to 
convey.  Once  bitten,  twice  shy!"  He  laughed  again 
and  slipped  the  two  rings  over  his  finger  with  an  air  of 
finality. 

"Now,  shall  I  start?  This  is  the  latch-key?"  He 
drew  a  key  from  the  pocket  of  Chilcote's  evening- 
clothes.  "  When  I  get  to  Grosvenor  Square  I  am  to  find 
your  house,  go  straight  in,  mount  the  stairs,  and  there 
on  my  right  hand  will  be  the  door  of  your — I  mean 
my  own — private  rooms.  I  think  I've  got  it  all  by 
heart.  I  feel  inspired;  I  feel  that  I  can't  go  wrong." 
He  handed  the  two  remaining  rings  to  Chilcote  and 
picked  up  the  overcoat. 

"  I'll  stick  on  till  I  get  a  wire,"  he  said.  "Then  I'll 
come  back  and  we'll  reverse  again."  He  slipped  on 
the  coat  and  moved  back  towards  the  table.  Now  that 
the  decisive  moment  had  come,  it  embarrassed  him. 

74 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Scarcely  knowing  how  to  bring  it  to  an  end,  he  held 
out  his  hand. 

Chilcote  took  it,  paling  a  little.  "  'Twill  be  all  right !" 
he  said,  with  a  sudden  return  of  nervousness.  "  'Twill 
be  all  right!  And  I've  made  it  plain  about — about  the 
remuneration?  A  hundred  a  week  —  besides  all  ex- 
penses." 

Loder  smiled  again.  "My  pay?  Oh  yes,  you've 
made  it  clear  as  day.     Shall  we  say  good-night  now?" 

"Yes.     Good-night." 

There  was  a  strange,  distant  note  in  Chilcote's  voice, 
but  the  other  did  not  pretend  to  hear  it.  He  pressed 
the  hand  he  was  holding,  though  the  cold  dampness  of 
it  repelled  him. 

"Good-night,"  he  said  again. 

"Good-night." 

They  stood  for  a  moment,  awkwardly  looking  at  each 
other,  then  Loder  quietly  disengaged  his  hand,  crossed 
the  room,  and  passed  through  the  door. 

Chilcote,  left  standing  alone  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  listened  while  the  last  sound  of  the  other's  foot- 
steps was  audible  on  the  uncarpeted  stairs;  then,  with 
a  furtive,  hurried  gesture,  he  caught  up  the  green- 
shaded  lamp  and  passed  into  Loder's  bedroom. 


VIII 

TO  all  men  come  portentous  moments,  difficult  mo- 
ments, triumphant  moments.  Loder  had  had  his 
examples  of  all  three,  but  no  moment  in  his  career  ever 
equalled  in  strangeness  of  sensation  that  in  which, 
dressed  in  another  man's  clothes,  he  fitted  the  latch- 
key for  the  first  time  into  the  door  of  the  other  man's 
house. 

The  act  was  quietly  done.  The  key  fitted  the  lock 
smoothly  and  his  fingers  turned  it  without  hesitation, 
though  his  heart,  usually  extremely  steady,  beat  sharp- 
ly for  a  second.  The  hall  loomed  massive  and  sombre 
despite  the  modernity  of  electric  lights.  It  was  darkly 
and  expensively  decorated  in  black  and  brown ;  a  frieze 
of  wrought  bronze,  representing  peacocks  with  out- 
spread tails,  ornamented  the  walls;  the  banisters  were 
of  heavy  iron-work,  and  the  somewhat  formidable  fire- 
place was  of  the  same  dark  metal. 

Loder  looked  about  him,  then  advanced,  his  heart 
again  beating  quickly  as  his  hand  touched  the  cold 
banister  and  he  began  his  ascent  of  the  stairs.  But  at 
each  step  his  confidence  strengthened,  his  feet  became 
more  firm;  until,  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  as  if  to  dis- 
prove his  assurance,  his  pulses  played  him  false  once 
more,  this  time  to  a  more  serious  tune.  From  the 
farther  end  of  a  well-lighted  corridor  a  maid  was  com- 
ing straight  in  his  direction. 

76 


THE    MASQUERADER 

For  one  short  second  all  things  seemed  to  whiz  about 
him;  the  certainty  of  detection  overpowered  his  mind. 
The  indisputable  knowledge  that  he  was  John  Loder 
and  no  other,  despite  all  armor  of  effrontery  and  dress, 
so  dominated  him  that  all  other  considerations  shrank 
before  it.  It  wanted  but  one  word,  one  simple  word 
of  denunciation,  and  the  whole  scheme  was  shattered. 
In  the  dismay  of  the  moment,  he  almost  wished  that 
the  word  might  be  spoken  and  the  suspense  ended. 

Bnt  the  maid  came  on  in  silence,  and  so  incredible 
was  the  silence  that  .Loder  moved  onward,  too.  He 
came  within  a  yard  of  her,  and  still  she  did  not  speak; 
then,  as  he  passed  her,  she  drew  back  respectfully 
against  the  wall. 

The  strain,  so  astonishingly  short,  had  been  im- 
mense, but  with  its  slackening  came  a  strong  reaction. 
The  expected  humiliation  seethed  suddenly  to  a  desire 
to  dare  fate.  Pausing  quickly,  he  turned  and  called 
the  woman  back. 

The  spot  where  he  had  halted  was  vividly  bright,  the 
ceiling  light  being  directly  above  his  head;  and  as  she 
came  towards  him  he  raised  his  face  deliberately  and 
waited. 

She  looked  at  him  without  surprise  or  interest. 
"Yes,  sir?"  she  said. 

"Is  your  mistress  in?"  he  asked.  He  could  think 
of  no  other  question,  but  it  served  his  purpose  as  a  test 
of  his  voice. 

Still  the  woman  showed  no  surprise.  "She's  not  in 
sir,"  she  answered.  "But  she's  expected  in  half  an 
hour." 

"  In  half  an  hour  ?  All  right!  That's  all  I  wanted." 
With  a  movement  of  decision  Loder  walked  back  to 

77 


THE    MASQUERADER 

the  stair-head,  turned  to  the  right,  and  opened  the  door 
of  Chilcote's  rooms. 

The  door  opened  on  a  short,  wide  passage ;  on  one  side 
stood  the  study,  on  the  other  the  bed,  bath,  and  dress- 
ing-rooms. With  a  blind  sense  of  knowledge  and  un- 
familiarity,  bred  of  much  description  on  Chilcote's 
part,  he  put  his  hand  on  the  study  door  and,  still  ex- 
alted by  the  omen  of  his  first  success,  turned  the  handle. 

Inside  the  room  there  was  firelight  and  lamplight 
and  a  studious  air  of  peace.  The  realization  of  this 
and  a  slow  incredulity  at  Chilcote's  voluntary  renun- 
ciation were  his  first  impressions;  then  his  attention 
was  needed  for  more  imminent  things. 

As  he  entered,  the  new  secretary  was  returning  a  vol- 
ume to  its  place  on  the  book-shelves.  At  sight  of  him, 
he  pushed  it  hastily  into  position  and  turned  round. 

"I  was  making  a  few  notes  on  the  political  position 
of  Khorasan,"  he  said,  glancing  with  slight  apprehen- 
siveness  at  the  other's  face.  He  was  a  small,  shy  man, 
with  few  social  attainments  but  an  extraordinary 
amount  of  learning — the  antithesis  of  the  alert  Bless- 
ington,  whom  he  had  replaced. 

Loder  bore  his  scrutiny  without  flinching.  Indeed, 
it  struck  him  suddenly  that  there  was  a  fund  of  inter- 
est, almost  of  excitement,  in  the  encountering  of  each 
new  pair  of  eyes.  At  the  thought  he  moved  forward 
to  the  desk. 

"Thank  you,  Greening,"  he  said.  "A  very  useful 
bit  of  work." 

The  secretary  glanced  up,  slightly  puzzled.  His  en- 
durance had  been  severely  taxed  in  the  fourteen  days 
that  he  had  filled  his  new  post. 

"I'm  glad  you  think  so,  sir,"  he  said,  hesitatingly. 

78 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"You  rather  pooh-poohed  the  matter  this  morning,  if 
you  remember." 

Locler  was  taking  off  his  coat,  but  stopped  in  the 
operation. 

"This  morning?"  he  said.  "Oh,  did  I?  Did  I?" 
Then,  struck  by  the  opportunity  the  words  gave  him, 
he  turned  towards  the  secretary.  "You've  got  to  get 
used  to  me,  Greening,"  he  said.  "You  haven't  quite 
grasped  me  yet,  I  can  see.  I'm  a  man  of  moods,  yon. 
know.  Up  to  the  present  you've  seen  my  slack  side, 
my  jarred  side,  but  I  have  quite  another  when  I  care 
to  show  it.  I'm  a  sort  of  Jekyll-and-Hyde  affair." 
Again  he  laughed,  and  Greening  echoed  the  sound  diffi- 
dently.   Chilcote  had  evidently  discouraged  familiarity. 

Loder  eyed  him  with  abrupt  understanding.  He 
recognized  the  loneliness  in  the  anxious,  conciliatory 
manner. 

"You're  tired,"  he  said,  kindly.  "Go  to  bed.  I've 
got  some  thinking  to  do.  Good-night."  He  held  out 
his  hand. 

Greening  took  it,  still  half  distrustful  of  this  fresh 
side  to  so  complex  a  man. 

"Good-night,  sir,"  he  said.  "To-morrow,  if  you 
approve,  I  shall  go  on  with  my  notes.  I  hope  you  will 
have  a  restful  night." 

For  a  second  Loder's  eyebrows  went  up,  but  he  re- 
covered himself  instantly. 

"Ah,  thanks,  Greening,"  he  said.  "Thanks.  I 
think  your  hope  will  be  fulfilled." 

He  watched  the  little  secretary  move  softly  and 
apologetically  to  the  door;  then  he  walked  to  the  fire, 
and,  resting  his  elbows  on  the  mantel-piece,  he  took  his 
face  in  his  hands. 

79 


THE    MASQUERADER 

For  a  space  he  stood  absolutely  quiet,  then  his  hands 
dropped  to  his  sides  and  he  turned  slowly  round.  In 
that  short  space  he  had  balanced  things  and  found  his 
bearings.  The  slight  nervousness  shown  in  his  brusque 
sentences  and  overconfident  manner  faded  out,  and  he 
faced  facts  steadily. 

With  the  return  of  his  calmness  he  took  a  long  sur- 
vey of  the  room.  His  glance  brightened  appreciatively 
as  it  travelled  from  the  walls  lined  with  well-bound 
books  to  the  lamps  modulated  to  the  proper  light; 
from  the  lamps  to  the  desk  fitted  with  every  require- 
ment. Nothing  was  lacking.  All  he  had  once  pos- 
sessed, all  he  had  since  dreamed  of,  was  here,  but  on  a 
greater  scale.  To  enjoy  the  luxuries  of  life  a  man 
must  go  long  without  them.  Loder  had  lived  severely 
— so  severely  that  until  three  weeks  ago  he  had  believed 
himself  exempt  from  the  temptations  of  humanity. 
Then  the  voice  of  the  world  had  spoken,  and  within 
him  another  voice  had  answered,  with  a  tone  so  clam- 
orous and  insistent  tnat  it  had  outcried  his  surprised 
and  incredulous  wonder  at  its  existence  and  its  claims. 
That  had  been  the  voice  of  suppressed  ambition;  and 
now  as  he  stood  in  the  new  atmosphere  a  newer  voice 
lifted  itself.  The  joy  of  material  things  rose  suddenly, 
overbalancing  the  last  remnant  of  the  philosophy  he 
had  reared.  He  saw  all  things  in  a  fresh  light — the 
soft  carpets,  the  soft  lights,  the  numberless  pleasant, 
unnecessary  things  that  color  the  passing  landscape 
and  oil  the  wheels  of  life.  This  was  power — power 
made  manifest.  The  choice  bindings  of  one's  books, 
the  quiet  harmony  of  one's  surroundings,  the  gratifying 
deference  of  one's  dependants — these  were  the  visible, 
the  outward  signs,  the  things  he  had  forgotten. 

80 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Crossing  the  room  slowly,  he  lifted  and  looked  at 
the  different  papers  on  the  desk.  They  had  a  sub- 
stantial feeling,  an  importance,  an  air  of  value.  They 
were  like  the  solemn  keys  to  so  many  vexed  problems. 
Beside  the  papers  were  a  heap  of  letters  neatly  arranged 
and  as  yet  unopened.  He  turned  them  over  one  by 
one.  They  were  all  thick,  and  interesting  to  look  at. 
He  smiled  as  he  recalled  his  own  scanty  mail:  envelopes 
long  and  bulky  or  narrow  and  thin — unwelcome  manu- 
scripts or  very  welcome  checks.  Having  sorted  the 
letters,  he  hesitated.  It  was  his  task  to  open  them, 
but  he  had  never  in  his  life  opened  an  envelope  ad- 
dressed to  another  man. 

He  stood  uncertain,  weighing  them  in  his  hand. 
Then  all  at  once  a  look  of  attention  and  surprise  crossed 
his  face,  and  he  raised  his  head.  Some  one  had  un- 
mistakably paused  outside  the  door  which  Greening 
had  left  ajar. 

There  was  a  moment  of  apparent  doubt,  then  a  stir  of 
skirts,  a  quick,  uncertain  knock,  and  theintruder  entered. 

For  a  couple  of  seconds  she  stood  in  the  doorway; 
then,  as  Loder  made  no  effort  to  speak,  she  moved  into 
the  room.  She  had  apparently  but  just  returned  from 
some  entertainment,  for,  though  she  had  drawn  off  her 
long  gloves,  she  was  still  wearing  an  evening  cloak  of 
lace  and  fur. 

That  she  was  Chilcote's  wife  Loder  instinctively 
realized  the  moment  she  entered  the  room.  But  a  dis- 
concerting confusion  of  ideas  was  all  that  followed  the 
knowledge.  He  stood  by  the  desk,  silent  and  awk- 
ward, trying  to  fit  his  expectations  to  his  knowledge. 
Then,  faced  by  the  hopelessness  of  the  task,  he  turned 
abruptly  and  looked  at  her  again. 

81 


THE    MASQUERADER 

She  had  taken  off  her  cloak  and  was  standing  by  the 
fire.  The  compulsion  of  moving  through  life  alone 
had  set  its  seal  upon  her  in  a  certain  self-possession, 
a  certain  confidence  of  pose;  yet  her  figure,  as  Loder 
then  saw  it,  backgrounded  by  the  dark  books  and 
gowned  in  pale  blue,  had  a  suggestion  of  youthfulness 
that  seemed  a  contradiction.  The  remembrance  of 
Chilcote's  epithets  "cold"  and  "unsympathetic"  came 
back  to  him  with  something  like  astonishment.  He 
felt  no  uncertainty,  no  dread  of  discovery  and  humilia- 
tion in  her  presence  as  he  had  felt  in  the  maid's;  yet 
there  was  something  in  her  face  that  made  him  in- 
finitely more  uncomfortable.  A  look  he  could  find  no 
name  for — a  friendliness  that  studiously  covered  an- 
other feeling,  whether  question,  distrust,  or  actual  dis- 
like he  could  not  say.  With  a  strange  sensation  of 
awkwardness  he  sorted  Chilcote's  letters,  waiting  for 
her  to  speak. 

As  if  divining  his  thought,  she  turned  towards  him. 
"I'm  afraid  I  rather  intrude,"  she  said.  "If  you  are 
busy—" 

His  sense  of  courtesy  was  touched ;  he  had  begun  life 
with  a  high  opinion  of  women,  and  the  words  shook  up 
an  echo  of  the  old  sentiment. 

"Don't  think  that,"  he  said,  hastily.  "I  was  only 
looking  through — my  letters.  You  mustn't  rate  your- 
self below  letters."  He  was  conscious  that  his  tone 
was  hurried,  that  his  words  were  a  little  jagged;  but 
Eve  did  not  appear  to  notice.  Unlike  Greening,  she 
took  the  new  manner  without  surprise.  She  had  known 
Chilcote  for  six  years. 

"  I  dined  with  the  Fraides  to-night,"  she  said.  "  Mr. 
Fraide  sent  you  a  message." 

82 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Unconsciously  Loder  smiled.  There  was  humor  in 
the  thought  of  a  message  to  him  from  the  great  Fraide. 
To  hide  his  amusement  he  wheeled  one  of  the  big 
lounge-chairs  forward. 

"Indeed,"  he  said.     "Won't  you  sit  down?" 

They  were  near  together  now,  and  he  saw  her  face 
more  fully.  Again  he  was  taken  aback.  Chilcote  had 
spoken  of  her  as  successful  and  intelligent,  but  never 
as  beautiful.  Yet  her  beauty  was  a  rare  and  uncom- 
mon fact.  Her  hair  was  black — not  a  glossy  black, 
but  the  dusky  black  that  is  softer  than  any  brown ;  her 
eyes  were  large  and  of  a  peculiarly  pure  blue;  and  her 
eyelashes  were  black,  beautifully  curved  and  of  re- 
markable thickness. 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  he  said  again,  cutting  short 
his  thoughts  with  some  confusion. 

"Thank  you."  She  gravely  accepted  the  proffered 
chair.  But  he  saw  that  without  any  ostentation  she 
drew  her  skirts  aside  as  she  passed  him.  The  action 
displeased  him  unaccountably. 

"Well,"  he  said,  shortly,  "what  had  Fraide  to  say?" 
He  walked  to  the  mantel-piece  with  his  customary 
movement  and  stood  watching  her.  The  instinct  tow- 
ards hiding  his  face  had  left  him.  Her  instant  and  un- 
interested acceptance  of  him  almost  nettled  him;  his 
own  half-contemptuous  impression  of  Chilcote  came 
to  him  unpleasantly,  and  with  it  the  first  desire  to 
assert  his  own  individuality.  Stung  by  the  conflicting 
emotions,  he  felt  in  Chilcote's  pockets  for  something  to 
smoke. 

Eve  saw  and  interpreted  the  action.  "Are  these 
your  cigarettes?"  She  leaned  towards  a  small  table 
and  took  up  a  box  made  of  lizard-skin. 

83 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"Thanks."  He  took  the  box  from  her,  and  as  it 
passed  from  one  to  the  other  he  saw  her  glance  at  his 
rings.  The  glance  was  momentary;  her  lips  parted 
to  express  question  or  surprise,  then  closed  again 
without  comment.  More  than  any  spoken  words,  the 
incident  showed  him  the  gulf  that  separated  husband 
and  wife. 

"Well?"  he  said  again,  "what  about  Fraide?" 

At  his  words  she  sat  straighter  and  looked  at  him 
more  directly,  as  if  bracing  herself  to  a  task. 

"Mr.  Fraide  is — is  as  interested  as  ever  in  you,"  she 
began. 

"Or  in  you?"  Loder  made  the  interruption  pre- 
cisely as  he  felt  Chilcote  would  have  made  it.  Then 
instantly  he  wished  the  words  back. 

Eve's  warm  skin  colored  more  deeply;  for  a  second 
the  inscrutable  underlying  expression  that  puzzled  him 
showed  in  her  eyes,  then  she  sank  back  into  a  corner  of 
the  chair. 

' '  Why  do  you  make  such  a  point  of  sneering  at  my 
friends?"  she  asked,  quietly.  "  I  overlook  it  when  you 
are — nervous."  She  halted  slightly  on  the  word. 
"But  you  are  not  nervous  to-night." 

Loder,  to  his  great  humiliation,  reddened.  Except 
for  an  occasional  outburst  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Robins, 
his  charwoman,  he  had  not  merited  a  woman's  dis- 
pleasure for  years. 

"The  sneer  was  unintentional,"  he  said. 

For  the  first  time  Eve  showed  a  personal  interest. 
She  looked  at  him  in  a  puzzled  way.  "  If  your  apology 
was  meant,"  she  said,  hesitatingly,  "I  should  be  glad 
to  accept  it." 

Loder,  uncertain  of  how  to  take  the  words,  moved 

84 


"won't   you  sit  down?'   he  said  again" 


THE    MASQUERADER 

back  to  the  desk.  He  carried  an  tmlighted  cigarette 
between  his  fingers. 

There  was  an  interval  in  which  neither  spoke. 
Then,  at  last,  conscious  of  its  awkwardness,  Eve  rose. 
With  one  hand  on  the  back  of  her  chair,  she  looked  at 
him. 

"Mr.  Fraide  thinks  it's  such  a  pity  that" — she  stop- 
ped to  choose  her  words — "that  you  should  lose  hold 
on  things — lose  interest  in  things,  as  you  are  doing. 
He  has  been  thinking  a  good  deal  about  you  in  the  last 
three  weeks — ever  since  the  day  of  your — your  illness 
in  the  House;  and  it  seems  to  him" — again  she  broke 
off,  watching  Loder's  averted  head — "it  seems  to  him 
that  if  you  made  one  real  effort  now,  even  now,  to 
shake  off  your  restlessness,  that  your — your  health 
might  improve.  He  thinks  that  the  present  crisis 
would  be" — she  hesitated — "would  give  you  a  tre- 
mendous opportunity.  Your  trade  interests,  bound 
up  as  they  are  with  Persia,  would  give  any  opinion  you 
might  hold  a  double  weight."  Almost  unconsciously 
a  touch  of  warmth  crept  into  her  words. 

' '  Mr.  Fraide  talked  very  seriously  about  the  be- 
ginning of  your  career.  He  said  that  if  only  the  spirit 
of  your  first  days  could  come  back — "  Her  tone  grew 
quicker,  as  though  she  feared  ridicule  in  Loder's  silence. 
"He  asked  me  to  use  my  influence.  I  know  that  I 
have  little — none,  perhaps — but  I  couldn't  tell  him 
that,  and  so — so  I  promised." 

"And  have  kept  the  promise?"  Loder  spoke  at 
random.  Her  manner  and  her  words  had  both  affected 
him.     There  was  a  sensation  of  unreality  in  his  brain. 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "I  always  want  to  do — 
what  I  can." 

85 


THE    MASQUERADER 

As  she  spoke  a  sudden  realization  of  the  effort  she 
was  making  struck  upon  him,  and  with  it  his  scorn  of 
Chilcote  rose  in  renewed  force. 

"My  intention — "  he  began,  turning  to  her.  Then 
the  futility  of  any  declaration  silenced  him.  "I  shall 
think  over  what  you  say,"  he  added,  after  a  minute's 
wait.     "I  suppose  I  can't  say  more  than  that." 

Their  eyes  met  and  she  smiled  a  little. 

"I  don't  believe  I  expected  as  much,"  she  said.  "  I 
think  I'll  go  now.  You  have  been  wonderfully  pa- 
tient." Again  she  smiled  slightly,  at  the  same  time 
extending  her  hand.  The  gesture  was  quite  friendly, 
but  in  Loder's  eyes  it  held  relief  as  well  as  friendliness; 
and  when  their  hands  met  he  noticed  that  her  fingers 
barely  brushed  his. 

He  picked  up  her  cloak  and  carried  it  across  the 
room.  As  he  held  the  door  open,  he  laid  it  quietly 
across  her  arm. 

"I'll  think  over  what  you've  said,"  he  repeated. 

Again  she  glanced  at  him  as  if  suspecting  sarcasm; 
then,  partly  reassured,  she  paused.  "You  will  always 
despise  your  opportunities,  and  I  suppose  I  shall  al- 
ways envy  them,"  she  said.  "That's  the  way  with 
men  and  women.  Good-night!"  With  another  faint 
smile  she  passed  out  into  the  corridor. 

Loder  waited  until  he  heard  the  outer  door  close, 
then  he  crossed  the  room  thoughtfully  and  dropped 
into  the  chair  that  she  had  vacated.  He  sat  for  a  time 
looking  at  the  hand  her  fingers  had  touched;  then  he 
lifted  his  head  with  a  characteristic  movement. 

"By  Jove!"  he  said,  aloud,  "how  cordially  she  de- 
tests him!" 


IX 

I  ODER  slept  soundly  and  dreamlessly  in  Chilcote's 
J  canopied  bed.  To  him  the  big  room  with  its  severe 
magnificence  suggested  nothing  of  the  gloom  and  soli- 
tude that  it  held  in  its  owner's  eyes.  The  ponderous 
furnitiire,  the  high  ceiling,  the  heavy  curtains,  un- 
changed since  the  days  of  Chilcote's  grandfather,  all 
hinted  at  a  far-reaching  ownership  that  stirred  him. 
The  ownership  was  mythical  in  his  regard,  and  the 
possessions  a  mirage,  but  they  filled  the  day.  And, 
surely,  sufficient  for  the  day — 

That  was  his  frame  of  mind  as  he  opened  his  eyes  on 
the  following  morning,  and  lay  appreciative  of  his  com- 
fort, of  the  surrounding  space,  even  of  the  light  that 
filtered  through  the  curtain  chinks,  suggestive  of  a 
world  recreated.  With  day,  all  things  seem  possible 
to  a  healthy  man.  He  stretched  his  arms  luxuriously, 
delighting  in  the  glossy  smoothness  of  the  sheets. 

What  was  it  Chilcote  had  said?  Better  live  for  a 
day  than  exist  for  a  lifetime!  That  was  true;  and  life 
had  begun.  At  thirty-six  he  was  to  know  it  for  the 
first  time. 

He  smiled,  but  without  irony.  Man  is  at  his  best 
at  thirty-six,  he  mused.  He  has  retained  his  enthu- 
siasms and  shed  his  exuberances;  he  has  learned  what 
to  pick  up  and  what  to  pass  by ;  he  no  longer  imagines 
that  to  drain  a  cup  one  must  taste  the  dregs.     He  closed 

87 


THE    MASQUERADER 

his  eyes  and  stretched  again,  not  his  arms  only,  but  his 
whole  body.  The  pleasure  of  his  mental  state  insisted 
on  a  physical  expression.  Then,  sitting  up  in  bed,  he 
pressed  the  electric  bell. 

Chilcote's  new  valet  responded. 

"Pull  those  curtains,  Renwick!"  he  said.  "What's 
the  time?"  He  had  passed  the  ordeal  of  Renwick's 
eyes  the  night  before. 

The  man  was  slow,  even  a  little  stupid.  He  drew 
back  the  curtains  carefully,  then  looked  at  the  small 
clock  on  the  dressing-table.  "Eight  o'clock,  sir.  I 
didn't  expect  the  bell  so  early,  sir." 

Loder  felt  reproved,  and  a  pause  followed. 

"May  I  bring  your  cup  of  tea,  sir?" 

"No.     Not  just  yet.     I'll  have  a  bath  first." 

Renwick  showed  ponderous  uncertainty.  "Warm, 
sir?"  he  hazarded. 

"No.     Cold." 

Still  perplexed,  the  man  left  the  room. 

Loder  smiled  to  himself.  The  chances  of  discovery 
in  that  quarter  were  not  large.  He  was  inclined  to 
think  that  Chilcote  had  even  overstepped  necessity  in 
the  matter  of  his  valet's  dulness. 

He  breakfasted  alone,  following  Chilcote's  habit,  and 
after  breakfast  found  his  way  to  the  study. 

As  he  entered,  Greening  rose  with  the  same  concilia- 
tory haste  that  he  had  shown  the  night  before. 

Loder  nodded  to  him.  "Early  at  work?"  he  said, 
pleasantly. 

The  little  man  showed  instant,  almost  ridiculous 
relief.  "Good-morning,  sir,"  he  said;  "you  too  are 
early.  I  rather  feared  your  nerves  troubled  you  after 
I  left  last  night,  for  I  found  your  letters  still  unopen- 

88 


THE    MASQUERADER 

ed  this  morning.  But  I  am  glad  to  see  you  look  so 
well." 

Loder  promptly  turned  his  back  to  the  light.  "  Oh. 
last  night's  letters!"  he  said.  "To  tell  you  the  truth, 
Greening,  my  wife" — his  hesitation  was  very  slight — 
"my  wife  looked  me  up  after  you  left,  and  we  gossiped. 
I  clean  forgot  the  post."  He  smiled  in  an  explanatory 
way  as  he  moved  to  the  desk  and  picked  up  the  letters. 

With  Greening's  eyes  upon  him,  there  was  no  time 
for  scruples.  With  very  creditable  coolness  he  began 
opening  the  envelopes  one  by  one.  The  letters  were 
unimportant,  and  he  passed  them  one  after  another  to 
the  secretary,  experiencing  a  slight  thrill  of  authority 
as  each  left  his  hand.  Again  the  fact  that  power  is 
visible  in  little  things  came  to  his  mind. 

"Give  me  my  engagement-book,  Greening,"  he  said, 
when  the  letters  had  been  disposed  of. 

The  book  that  Greening  handed  him  was  neat  in 
shape  and  bound,  like  Chilcote's  cigarette-case,  in 
lizard -skin. 

As  Loder  took  it,  the  gold  monogram  "J.  C."  winked 
at  him  in  the  bright  morning  light.  The  incident 
moved  his  sense  of  humor.  He  and  the  book  were  co- 
operators  in  the  fraud,  it  seemed.  He  felt  an  inclina- 
tion to  wink  back.  Nevertheless,  he  opened  it  with 
proper  gravity  and  skimmed  the  pages. 

The  page  devoted  to  the  day  was  almost  full.  On 
every  other  line  were  jottings  in  Chilcote's  irregular 
hand,  and  twice  among  the  entries  appeared  a  promi- 
nent cross  in  blue  pencilling.  Loder's  interest  quick- 
ened as  his  eye  caught  the  mark.  It  had  been  agreed 
between  them  that  only  engagements  essential  to  Chil- 
cote's public  life  need  be  carried  through  during  his 

89 


THE    MASQUERADER 

absence,  and  these,  to  save  confusion,  were  to  be 
crossed  in  blue  pencil.  The  rest,  for  the  most  part 
social  claims,  were  to  be  left  to  circumstance  and 
Loder's  inclination,  Chilcote's  erratic  memory  always 
accounting  for  the  breaking  of  trivial  promises. 

But  Loder  in  his  new  energy  was  anxious  for  obliga- 
tions; the  desire  for  fresh  and  greater  tests  grew  with 
indulgence.  He  scanned  the  two  lines  with  eagerness. 
The  first  was  an  interview  with  Cresham,  one  of  Chil- 
cote's supporters  in  Wark;  the  other  an  engagement  to 
lunch  with  Fraide.  At  the  idea  of  the  former  his  interest 
quickened,  but  at  thought  of  the  latter  it  quailed  mo- 
mentarily. Had  the  entry  been  a  royal  command  it 
would  have  affected  him  infinitely  less.  For  a  space 
his  assurance  faltered;  then,  by  coincidence,  the  recol- 
lection of  Eve  and  Eve's  words  of  last  night  came  back 
to  him,  and  his  mind  was  filled  with  a  new  sensation. 

Because  of  Chilcote,  he  was  despised  by  Chilcote's 
wife!  There  was  no  denying  that  in  all  the  pleasant 
excitement  of  the  adventure  that  knowledge  had 
rankled.  It  came  to  him  now  linked  with  remem- 
brance of  the  slight,  reluctant  touch  of  her  fingers,  the 
faintly  evasive  dislike  underlying  her  glance.  It  was 
a  trivial  thing,  but  it  touched  his  pride  as  a  man. 
That  was  how  he  put  it  to  himself.  It  wasn't  that  he 
valued  this  woman's  opinion — any  woman's  opinion; 
it  was  merely  that  it  touched  his  pride.  He  turned 
again  to  the  window  and  gazed  out,  the  engagement- 
book  still  between  his  hands.  What  if  he  compelled 
her  respect  ?  What  if  by  his  own  personality  cloaked 
under  Chilcote's  identity  he  forced  her  to  admit  his 
capability?  It  was  a  matter  of  pride,  after  all  — 
scarcely  even  of  pride;  self-respect  was  a  better  word. 

90 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Satisfied  by  his  own  reasoning,  he  turned  back  into 
the  room. 

"  See  to  those  letters,  Greening,"  he  said.  "  And  for 
the  rest  of  the  morning's  work  you  might  go  on  with 
your  Khorasan  notes.  I  believe  we'll  all  want  every 
inch  of  knowledge  we  can  get  in  that  quarter  before 
we're  much  older.  I'll  see  you  again  later."  With  a 
reassuring  nod  he  crossed  the  room  and  passed  through 
the  door. 

He  lunched  with  Fraide  at  his  club,  and  afterwards 
walked  with  him  to  Westminster.  The  walk  and  lunch 
were  both  memorable.  In  that  hour  he  learned  many 
things  that  had  been  sealed  to  him  before.  He  tasted 
his  first  draught  of  real  elation,  his  first  drop  of  real 
discomfiture.  He  saw  for  the  first  time  how  a  great 
man  may  condescend  —  how  unostentatiously,  how 
fully,  how  delightfully.  He  felt  what  tact  and  kind- 
ness perfectly  combined  may  accomplish,  and  he 
burned  inwardly  with  a  sense  of  duplicity  that  crushed 
and  elated  him  alternately.  He  was  John  Loder, 
friendless,  penniless,  with  no  present  and  no  future,  yet 
he  walked  down  Whitehall  in  the  full  light  of  day  with 
one  of  the  greatest  statesmen  England  has  known. 

Some  strangers  were  being  shown  over  the  Terrace 
when  he  and  Fraide  reached  the  House,  and,  noticing 
the  open  door,  the  old  man  paused. 

"I  never  refuse  fresh  air,"  he  said.  "Shall  we  take 
another  breath  of  it  before  settling  down?"  He  took 
Loder's  arm  and  drew  him  forward.  As  they  passed 
through  the  door-way  the  pressure  of  his  fingers  tight- 
ened. "I  shall  reckon  to-day  among  my  pleasantest 
memories,  Chilcote,"  he  said,  gravely.  "I  can't  ex- 
plain the  feeling,  but  I  seem  to  have  touched  Eve's 

9i 


THE    MASQUERADER 

husband  —  the  real  you,  more  closely  this  morning 
than  I  ever  did  before.  It  has  been  a  genuine  hap- 
piness." He  looked  up  with  the  eyes  that,  through  all 
his  years  of  action  and  responsibility,  had  remained 
so  bright. 

But  Loder  paled  suddenly,  and  his  glance  turned  to 
the  river  —  wide,  mysterious,  secret.  Unconsciously 
Fraide  had  stripped  the  illusion.  It  was  not  John 
Loder  who  walked  here ;  it  was  Chilcote — Chilcote  with 
his  position,  his  constituency — his  wife.  He  half  ex- 
tricated his  arm,  but  Fraide  held  it. 

"No,"  he  said.  "Don't  draw  away  from  me.  You 
have  always  been  too  ready  to  do  that.  It  is  not  often 
I  have  a  pleasant  truth  to  tell.  I  won't  be  deprived 
of  the  enjoyment." 

"Can  the  truth  ever  be  pleasant,  sir?"  Involun- 
tarily Loder  echoed  Chilcote. 

Fraide  looked  up.  He  was  half  a  head  shorter  than 
his  companion,  though  his  dignity  concealed  the  fact. 
"Chilcote,"  he  said,  seriously,  "give  up  cynicism!  It 
is  the  trade-mark  of  failure,  and  I  do  not  like  it  in  my — 
friends." 

Loder  said  nothing.  The  quiet  insight  of  the  reproof, 
its  mitigating  kindness,  touched  him  sharply.  In  that 
moment  he  saw  the  rails  down  which  he  had  sent  his 
little  car  of  existence  spinning,  and  the  sight  daunted 
him.  The  track  was  steeper,  the  gauge  narrower,  than 
he  had  guessed;  there  were  curves  and  sidings  upon 
which  he  had  not  reckoned.  He  turned  his  head  and 
met  Fraide's  glance. 

"Don't  count  too  much  on  me,  sir,"  he  said,  slowly. 
"I  might  disappoint  you  again."  His  voice  broke  off 
on  the  last  word,  for  the  sound  of  other  voices  and  of 

92 


THE    MASQUERADER 

laughter  came  to  them  across  the  Terrace  as  a  group 
of  two  women  and  three  men  passed  through  the  open 
door.  At  a  glance  he  realized  that  the  slighter  of  the 
two  women  was  Eve. 

Seeing  them,  she  disengaged  herself  from  her  party 
and  came  quickly  forward.  He  saw  her  cheeks  flush 
and  her  eyes  brighten  pleasantly  as  they  rested  on  his 
companion;  but  he  noticed  also  that  after  her  first 
cursory  glance  she  avoided  his  own  direction. 

As  she  came  towards  them,  Fraide  drew  away  his 
hand  in  readiness  to  greet  her. 

"  Here  comes  my  godchild!"  he  said.  "I  often  wish, 
Chilcote,  that  I  could  do  away  with  the  prefix."  He 
added  the  last  words  in  an  undertone  as  he  reached 
them;  then  he  responded  warmly  to  her  smile. 

"What!"  he  said.  "Turning  the  Terrace  into  the 
Garden  of  Eden  in  January!     We  cannot  allow  this." 

Eve  laughed.  "Blame  Lady  Sarah!"  she  said. 
"We  met  at  lunch,  and  she  carried  me  off.  Needless 
to  say  I  hadn't  to  ask  where." 

They  both  laughed,  and  Loder  joined,  a  little  uncer- 
tainly. He  had  yet  to  learn  that  the  devotion  of 
Fraide  and  his  wife  was  a  long-standing  jest  in  their 
particular  set. 

At  the  sound  of  his  tardy  laugh  Eve  turned  to  him. 
"I  hope  I  didn't  rob  you  of  all  sleep  last  night,"  she 
said.  "  I  caught  him  in  his  den,"  she  explained,  turn- 
ing to  Fraide,  "and  invaded  it  most  courageously.  I 
believe  we  talked  till  two." 

Again  Loder  noticed  how  quickly  she  looked  from  him 
to  Fraide.     The  knowledge  roused  his  self-assertion. 

"I  had  an  excellent  night,"  he  said.  "Do  I  look  as 
if  I  hadn't  slept?" 

93 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Somewhat  slowly  and  reluctantly  Eve  looked  back. 
"No,"  she  said,  truthfully,  and  with  a  faint  surprise 
that  to  Loder  seemed  the  first  genuine  emotion  she  had 
shown  regarding  him.  "No,  I  don't  think  I  ever  saw 
you  look  so  well."  She  was  quite  unconscious  and 
very  charming  as  she  made  the  admission.  It  struck 
Loder  that  her  coloring  of  hair  and  eyes  gained  by  day- 
light— were  brightened  and  vivified  by  their  setting  of 
sombre  river  and  sombre  stone. 

Fraide  smiled  at  her  affectionately;  then  looked  at 
Loder.  "  Chilcote  has  got  a  new  lease  of  nerves,  Eve," 
he  said,  quietly.  "And  I — believe — I  have  got  a  new 
henchman.  But  I  see  my  wife  beckoning  to  me.  I 
must  have  a  word  with  her  before  she  flits  away.  May 
I  be  excused  ?"  He  made  a  courteous  gesture  of  apol- 
ogy; then  smiled  at  Eve. 

She  looked  after  him  as  he  moved  away.  "I  some- 
times wonder  what  I  should  do  if  anything  were  to 
happen  to  the  Fraides,"  she  said,  a  little  wistfully. 
Then  almost  at  once  she  laughed,  as  if  regretting  her 
impulsiveness.  "You  heard  what  he  said,"  she  went 
on,  in  a  different  voice.  "Am  I  really  to  congratulate 
you?" 

The  change  of  tone  stung  Loder  unaccountably. 
"Will  you  always  disbelieve  in  me?"  he  asked. 

Without  answering,  she  walked  slowly  across  the 
deserted  Terrace  and,  pausing  by  the  parapet,  laid  her 
hand  on  the  stone-work.  Still  in  silence  she  looked  out 
across  the  river. 

Loder  had  followed  closely.  Again  her  aloofness 
seemed  a  challenge.  "Will  you  always  disbelieve  in 
me?"  he  repeated. 

At  last  she  looked  up  at  him,  slowly. 

94 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"Have  you  ever  given  me  cause  to  believe?"  she 
asked,  in  a  quiet  voice. 

To  this  truth  he  found  no  answer,  though  the  sub- 
dued incredulity  nettled  him  afresh. 

Prompted  to  a  further  effort,  he  spoke  again.  "Pa- 
tience is  necessary  with  every  person  and  every  circum- 
stance," he  said.      'We've  all  got  to  wait  and  see." 

She  did  not  lower  her  gaze  as  he  spoke;  and  there 
seemed  to  him  something  disconcerting  in  the  clear, 
candid  blue  of  her  eyes.  With  a  sudden  dread  of  her 
next  words,  he  moved  forward  and  laid  his  hand  beside 
hers  on  the  parapet. 

"Patience  is  needed  for  every  one,"  he  repeated, 
quickly.  "Sometimes  a  man  is  like  a  bit  of  wreckage; 
he  drifts  till  some  force  stronger  than  himself  gets  in 
his  way  and  stops  him."  He  looked  again  at  her  face. 
He  scarcely  knew  what  he  was  saying;  he  only  felt  that 
he  was  a  man  in  an  egregiously  false  position,  trying 
stupidly  to  justify  himself.  "Don't  you  believe  that 
flotsam  can  sometimes  be  washed  ashore?"  he  asked. 

High  above  them  Big  Ben  chimed  the  hour. 

Eve  raised  her  head.  It  almost  seemed  to  him  that 
he  could  see  her  answer  trembling  on  her  lips ;  then  the 
voice  of  Lady  Sarah  Fraide  came  cheerfully  from  be- 
hind them. 

"Eve!"  she  called.  "Eve!  We  must  fly.  It's 
absolutely  three  o'clock!" 


IN  the  days  that  followed  Fraide's  marked  adop- 
tion of  him  Loder  behaved  with  a  discretion  that 
spoke  well  for  his  qualities.  Many  a  man  placed  in  the 
same  responsible,  and  yet  strangely  irresponsible,  posi- 
tion might  have  been  excused  if,  for  the  time  at  least, 
he  gave  himself  a  loose  rein.  But  Loder  kept  free  of  the 
temptation. 

Like  all  other  experiments,  his  showed  unlooked-for 
features  when  put  to  a  working  test.  Its  expected 
difficulties  smoothed  themselves  away,  while  others, 
scarcely  anticipated,  came  into  prominence.  Most 
notable  of  all,  the  physical  likeness  between  himself 
and  Chilcote,  the  bedrock  of  the  whole  scheme,  which 
had  been  counted  upon  to  offer  most  danger,  worked 
without  a  hitch.  He  stood  literally  amazed  before  the 
sweeping  credulity  that  met  him  on  every  hand.  Men 
who  had  known  Chilcote  from  his  youth,  servants  who 
had  been  in  his  employment  for  years,  joined  issue  in 
the  unquestioning  acceptance.  At  times  the  ease  of 
the  deception  bewildered  him;  there  were  moments 
when  he  realized  that,  should  circumstances  force  him 
to  a  declaration  of  the  truth,  he  would  not  be  believed. 
Human  nature  prefers  its  own  eyesight  to  the  testimony 
of  any  man. 

But  in  face  of  this  astonishing  success  he  steered  a 
steady  course.     In  the   first  exhilaration  of  Fraide's 

96 


THE    MASQUERADER 

favor,  in  the  first  egotistical  wish  to  break  down  Eve's 
scepticism,  he  might  possibly  have  plunged  into  the  vor- 
tex of  action,  let  it  be  in  what  direction  it  might;  but 
fortunately  for  himself,  for  Chilcote,  and  for  their 
scheme,  he  was  liable  to  strenuous  second  thoughts — 
those  wise  and  necessary  curbs  that  go  further  to  the 
steadying  of  the  universe  than  the  universe  guesses. 
Sitting  in  the  quiet  of  the  House,  on  the  same  day  that 
he  had  spoken  with  Eve  on  the  Terrace,  he  had  weighed 
possibilities  slowly  and  cautiously.  Impressed  to  the 
full  by  the  atmosphere  of  the  place  that  in  his  eyes 
could  never  lack  character,  however  dull  its  momen- 
tary business,  however  prosy  the  voice  that  filled  it, 
he  had  sifted  impulse  from  expedience,  as  only  a  man 
who  has  lived  within  himself  can  sift  and  distinguish. 
And  at  the  close  of  that  first  day  his  programme  had 
been  formed.  There  must  be  no  rush,  no  headlong 
plunge,  he  had  decided;  things  must  work  round.  It 
was  his  first  expedition  into  the  new  country,  and  it  lay 
with  fate  to  say  whether  it  would  be  his  last. 

He  had  been  leaning  back  in  his  seat,  his  eyes  on  the 
ministers  opposite,  his  arms  folded  in  imitation  of  Chil- 
cote's  most  natural  attitude,  when  this  final  specula- 
tion had  come  to  him;  and  as  it  came  his  lips  had 
tightened  for  a  moment  and  his  face  become  hard  and 
cold.  It  is  an  unpleasant  thing  when  a  man  first  un- 
consciously reckons  on  the  weakness  of  another,  and 
the  look  that  expresses  the  idea  is  not  good  to  see. 
He  had  stirred  uneasily;  then  his  lips  had  closed  again. 
He  was  tenacious  by  nature,  and  by  nature  intolerant 
of  weakness.  At  the  first  suggestion  of  reckoning  upon 
Chilcote's  lapses,  his  mind  had  drawn  back  in  disgust; 
but  as  the  thought  came  again  the  disgust  had  lessened. 

97 


THE    MASQUERADER 

In  a  week — two  weeks,  perhaps — Chilcote  would  re- 
claim his  place.  Then  would  begin  the  routine  of  the 
affair.  Chilcote,  fresh  from  indulgence  and  freedom, 
would  find  his  obligations  a  thousand  times  more  irk- 
some than  before;  he  would  struggle  for  a  time;  then — 

A  shadowy  smile  had  touched  Loder's  lips  as  the 
idea  formed  itself. 

Then  would  come  the  inevitable  recall ;  then  in  ear- 
nest he  might  venture  to  put  his  hand  to  the  plough. 
He  never  indulged  in  day-dreams,  but  something  in  the 
nature  of  a  vision  had  flashed  over  his  mind  in  that  in- 
stant. He  had  seen  himself  standing  in  that  same 
building,  seen  the  rows  of  faces  first  bored,  then  hesi- 
tatingly transformed  under  his  personal  domination, 
under  the  one  great  power  he  knew  himself  to  possess — 
the  power  of  eloquence.  The  strength  of  the  sugges- 
tion had  been  almost  painful.  Men  who  have  attained 
self-repression  are  occasionally  open  to  a  perilous  on- 
rush of  feeling.  Believing  that  they  know  themselves, 
they  walk  boldly  forward  towards  the  high-road  and 
the  pitfall  alike. 

These  had  been  Loder's  disconnected  ideas  and  spec- 
ulations on  the  first  day  of  his  new  life.  At  four  o'clock 
on  the  ninth  day  he  was  pacing  with  quiet  confidence 
up  and  down  Chilcote's  study,  his  mind  pleasantly 
busy  and  his  cigar  comfortably  alight,  when  he  paused 
in  his  walk  and  frowned,  interrupted  by  the  entrance 
of  a  servant. 

The  man  came  softly  into  the  room,  drew  a  small 
table  towards  the  fire,  and  proceeded  to  lay  an  ex- 
tremely fine  and  unserviceable-looking  cloth. 

Loder  watched  him  in  silence.  He  had  grown  to 
find  silence  a  very  useful  commodity.     To  wait  and 

98 


THE    MASQUERADER 

let  things  develop  was  the  attitude  he  oftenest  assumed. 
But  on  this  occasion  he  was  perplexed.  He  had  not 
rung  for  tea,  and  in  any  case  a  cup  on  a  salver  satisfied 
his  wants.     He  looked  critically  at  the  fragile  cloth. 

Presently  the  servant  departed,  and  solemnly  re- 
entered carrying  a  silver  tray,  with  cups,  a  teapot,  and 
cakes.  Having  adjusted  them  to  his  satisfaction,  he 
turned  to  Loder. 

"Mrs.  Chilcote  will  be  with  you  in  five  minutes, 
sir,"  he  said. 

He  waited  for  some  response,  but  Loder  gave  none. 
Again  he  had  found  the  advantages  of  silence,  but  this 
time  it  was  silence  of  a  compulsory  kind.  He  had 
nothing  to  say. 

The  man,  finding  him  irresponsive,  retired;  and,  left 
to  himself,  Loder  stared  at  the  array  of  feminine  trifles; 
then,  turning  abruptly,  he  moved  to  the  centre  of  the 
room. 

Since  the  day  they  had  talked  on  the  Terrace,  he  had 
only  seen  Eve  thrice,  and  always  in  the  presence  of 
others.  Since  the  night  of  his  first  coming,  she  had 
not  invaded  his  domain,  and  he  wondered  what  this 
new  departure  might  mean. 

His  thought  of  her  had  been  less  vivid  in  the  last 
few  days;  for,  though  still  using  steady  discretion,  he 
had  been  drawn  gradually  nearer  the  fascinating  whirl- 
pool of  new  interests  and  new  work.  Shut  his  eyes 
as  he  might,  there  was  no  denying  that  this  moment. 
so  personally  vital  to  him,  was  politically  vital  to  the 
whole  country;  and  that  by  a  curious  coincidence 
Chilcote's  position  well-nigh  forced  him  to  take  an 
active  interest  in  the  situation.  Again  and  again  the 
suggestion  had  arisen  that — should  the  smouldering 

99 


THE    MASQUERADER 

fire  in  Persia  break  into  a  flame,  Chilcote's  commercial 
interests  would  facilitate,  would  practically  compel, 
his  standing  in  in  the  campaign  against  the  govern- 
ment. 

The  little  incident  of  the  tea-table,  recalling  the 
social  side  of  his  obligations,  had  aroused  the  realiza- 
tion of  greater  things.  As  he  stood  meditatively  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  he  saw  suddenly  how  absorbed  he 
had  become  in  these  greater  things.  How,  in  the  swing 
of  congenial  interests,  he  had  been  borne  insensibly 
forward — his  capacities  expanding,  his  intelligence  as- 
serting itself.  He  had  so  undeniably  found  his  sphere 
that  the  idea  of  usurpation  had  receded  gently  as  by 
natural  laws,  until  his  own  personality  had  begun  to 
color  the  day's  work. 

As  this  knowledge  came,  he  wondered  quickly  if  it 
held  a  solution  of  the  present  little  comedy;  if  Eve  had 
seen  what  others,  he  knew,  had  observed — that  Chilcote 
was  showing  a  grasp  of  things  that  he  had  not  exhibited 
for  years.  Then,  as  a  sound  of  skirts  came  softly  down 
the  corridor,  he  squared  his  shoulders  with  his  habitual 
abrupt  gesture  and  threw  his  cigar  into  the  fire. 

Eve  entered  the  room  much  as  she  had  done  on  her 
former  visit,  but  with  one  difference.  In  passing  Loder 
she  quietly  held  out  her  hand. 

He  took  it  as  quietly.  "  Why  am  I  so  honored  ?"  he 
said. 

She  laughed  a  little  and  looked  across  at  the  fire. 
"How  like  a  man!  You  always  want  to  begin  with 
reasons.  Let's  have  tea  first  and  explanations  after." 
She  moved  forward  towards  the  table,  and  he  followed. 
As  he  did  so,  it  struck  him  that  her  dress  seemed  in 
peculiar  harmony  with  the  day  and  the  room,  though 

ioo 


THE    MASQUERADER 

beyond  that  he  could  not  follow  its  details.  As  she 
paused  beside  the  table  he  drew  forward  a  chair  with  a 
faint  touch  of  awkwardness. 

She  thanked  him  and  sat  down. 

He  watched  her  in  silence  as  she  poured  out  the  tea, 
and  the  thought  crossed  his  mind  that  it  was  incredibly 
long  since  he  had  seen  a  woman  preside  over  a  meal. 
The  deftness  of  her  fingers  filled  him  with  an  unfamiliar, 
half-inquisitive  wonder.  So  interesting  was  the  sen- 
sation that,  when  she  held  his  cup  towards  him,  he 
didn't  immediately  see  it. 

"Don't  you  want  any?"     She  smiled  a  little. 

He  started,  embarrassed  by  his  own  tardiness. 
"I'm  afraid  I'm  dull,"  he  said.     "I've  been  so—" 

"So  keen  a  worker  in  the  last  week?" 

For  a  moment  he  felt  relieved.  Then,  as  a  fresh 
silence  fell,  his  sense  of  awkwardness  returned.  He 
sipped  his  tea  and  ate  a  biscuit.  He  found  himself 
wishing,  for  almost  the  first  time,  for  some  of  the  small 
society  talk  that  came  so  pleasantly  to  other  men. 
He  felt  that  the  position  was  ridiculous.  He  glanced 
at  Eve's  averted  head,  and  laid  his  empty  cup  upon 
the  table. 

Almost  at  once  she  turned,  and  their  eyes  met. 

"John,"  she  said,  "do  you  guess  at  all  why  I  wanted 
to  have  tea  with  you?" 

He  looked  down  at  her.  "No,"  he  said,  honestly 
and  without  embellishment. 

The  curtness  of  the  answer  might  have  displeased 
another  woman.     Eve  seemed  to  take  no  offence. 

"I  had  a  talk  with  the  Fraides  to-day,"  she  said. 
"A  long  talk.  Mr.  Fraide  said  great  things  of  you — 
things  I  wouldn't  have  believed  from  anybody  but 

IOI 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Mr.  Fraide."  She  altered  her  position  and  looked 
from  Loder's  face  back  into  the  fire. 

He  took  a  step  forward.  "What  things?"  he  said. 
He  was  almost  ashamed  of  the  sudden,  inordinate  sat- 
isfaction that  welled  up  at  her  words. 

"Oh,  I  mustn't  tell  you!"  She  laughed  a  little. 
"But  you  have  surprised  him."  She  paused,  sipped 
her  tea,  then  looked  up  again  with  a  change  of  ex- 
pression. 

"John,"  she  said,  more  seriously,  "there  is  one  point 
that  sticks  a  little.  Will  this  great  change  last  ?"  Her 
voice  was  direct  and  even — wonderfully  direct  for  a 
woman,  Loder  thought.  It  came  to  him  with  a  cer- 
tain force  that  beneath  her  remarkable  charm  might 
possibly  lie  a  remarkable  character.  It  was  not  a  pos- 
sibility that  had  occurred  to  him  before,  and  it  caused 
him  to  look  at  her  a  second  time.  In  the  new  light  he 
saw  her  beauty  differently,  and  it  interested  him  differ- 
ently. Heretofore  he  had  been  inclined  to  class  wom- 
en under  three  heads — idols,  amusements,  or  encum- 
brances ;  now  it  crossed  his  mind  that  a  woman  might 
possibly  fill  another  place — the  place  of  a  companion. 

'You  are  very  sceptical,"  he  said,  still  looking  down 
at  her. 

She  did  not  return  his  glance.  "  I  think  I  have  been 
made  sceptical,"  she  said. 

As  she  spoke  the  image  of  Chilcote  shot  through  his 
mind.  Chilcote,  irritable,  vicious,  unstable,  and  a 
quick  compassion  for  this  woman  so  inevitably  shackled 
to  him  followed  it. 

Eve,  unconscious  of  what  was  passing  in  his  mind, 
went  on  with  her  subject. 

'When  we  were  married,"  she  said,  gently,  "I  had 

I02 


THE    MASQUERADER 

such  a  great  interest  in  things,  such  a  great  belief  in 
life.  I  had  lived  in  politics,  and  I  was  marrying  one 
of  the  coming  men — everybody  said  you  were  one  of  the 
coming  men — I  scarcely  felt  there  was  anything  left 
to  ask  for.  You  didn't  make  very  ardent  love,"  she 
smiled,  "but  I  think  I  had  forgotten  about  love.  I 
wanted  nothing  so  much  as  to  be  like  Lady  Sarah — 
married  to  a  great  man."  She  paused,  then  went  on 
more  hurriedly:  "For  a  while  things  went  right;  then 
slowly  things  went  wrong.  You  got  your  —  your 
nerves." 

Loder  changed  his  position  with  something  of  abrupt- 
ness. 

She  misconstrued  the  action. 

"Please  don't  think  I  want  to  be  disagreeable,"  she 
said,  hastily.  "  I  don't.  I'm  only  trying  to  make  you 
understand  why — why  I  lost  heart." 

"I  think  I  know,"  Loder's  voice  broke  in  involun- 
tarily. "Things  got  worse  —  then  still  worse.  You 
found  interference  useless.  At  last  you  ceased  to  have 
a  husband." 

"Until  a  week  ago."  She  glanced  up  quickly.  Ab- 
sorbed in  her  own  feelings,  she  had  seen  nothing  ex- 
traordinary in  his  words. 

But  at  hers,  Loder  changed  color. 

"It's  the  most  incredible  thing  in  the  world,"  she 
said.  "It's  quite  incredible,  and  yet  I  can't  deny  it. 
Against  all  my  reason,  all  my  experience,  all  my  in- 
clination I  seem  to  feel  in  the  last  week  something  of 
what  I  felt  at  first."  She  stopped  with  an  embar- 
rassed laugh.  "  It  seems  that,  as  if  by  magic,  life  has 
been  picked  up  where  I  dropped  it  six  years  ago." 
Again  she  stopped  and  laughed. 

103 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Loder  was  keenly  uncomfortable,  but  he  could  think 
of  nothing  to  say. 

"It  seemed  to  begin  that  night  I  dined  with  the 
Fraides,"  she  went  on.  "Mr.  Fraide  talked  so  wisely 
and  so  kindly  about  many  things.  Pie  recalled  all  we 
had  hoped  for  in  you;  and — and  he  blamed  me  a  lit- 
tle." She  paused  and  laid  her  cup  aside.  "He  said  that 
when  people  have  made  what  they  call  their  last  effort, 
they  should  always  make  just  one  effort  more.  He 
promised  that  if  I  could  once  persuade  you  to  take  an 
interest  in  your  work,  he  would  do  the  rest.  He  said 
all  that,  and  a  thousand  other  kinder  things — and  I 
sat  and  listened.  But  all  the  time  I  thought  of  noth- 
ing but  their  uselessness.  Before  I  left  I  promised  to 
do  my  best — but  my  thought  was  still  the  same.  It 
was  stronger  than  ever  when  I  forced  myself  to  come 
up  here — "  She  paused  again,  and  glanced  at  Loder 's 
averted  head.  "But  I  came,  and  then — as  if  by  con- 
quering myself  I  had  compelled  a  reward,  you  seemed 
— you  somehow  seemed  different.  It  sounds  ridicu- 
lous, I  know."  Her  voice  was  half  amused,  half  depre- 
cating. "It  wasn't  a  difference  in  your  face,  though  I 
knew  directly  that  you  were  free  from  —  nerves." 
Again  she  hesitated  over  the  word.  It  was  a  difference 
in  yourself,  in  the  things  you  said,  more  than  in  the 
way  you  said  them."  Once  more  she  paused  and 
laughed  a  little. 

Loder's  discomfort  grew. 

"But  it  didn't  affect  me  then."  She  spoke  more 
slowly.  ."I  wouldn't  admit  it  then.  And  the  next 
day  when  we  talked  on  the  Terrace  I  still  refused  to 
admit  it — though  I  felt  it  more  strongly  than  before. 
But  I  have  watched  you  since  that  day,  and  I  know 

104 


THE    MASQUERADER 

there  is  a  change.  Mr.  Fraide  feels  the  same,  and  he  is 
never  mistaken.  I  know  it's  only  nine  or  ten  days, 
but  I've  hardly  seen  you  in  the  same  mood  for  nine  or 
ten  hours  in  the  last  three  years."  She  stopped,  and 
the  silence  was  expressive.  It  seemed  to  plead  for 
confirmation  of  her  instinct. 

Still  Loder  could  find  no  response. 

After  waiting  for  a  moment,  she  leaned  forward  in 
her  chair  and  looked  up  at  him. 

"John,"  she  said,  "is  it  going  to  last?  That's  what 
I  came  to  ask.  I  don't  want  to  believe  till  I'm  sure; 
I  don't  want  to  risk  a  new  disappointment."  Loder 
felt  the  earnestness  of  her  gaze,  though  he  avoided 
meeting  it. 

"I  couldn't  have  said  this  to  you  a  week  ago,  but 
to-day  I  can.  I  don't  pretend  to  explain  why — the 
feeling  is  too  inexplicable.  I  only  know  that  I  can 
say  it  now,  and  that  I  couldn't  a  week  ago.  Will  you 
understand — and  answer?" 

Still  Loder  remained  mute.  His  position  was  horri- 
bly incongruous.  What  could  he  say?  What  dared 
he  say? 

Confused  by  his  silence,  Eve  rose. 

"If  it's  only  a  phase,  don't  try  to  hide  it,"  she  said. 
"But  if  it's  going  to  last — if  by  any  possibility  it's  go- 
ing to  last — "     She  hesitated  and  looked  up. 

She  was  quite  close  to  him.  He  would  have  been 
less  than  man  had  he  been  unconscious  of  the  subtle 
contact  of  her  glance,  the  nearness  of  her  presence — 
and  no  one  had  ever  hinted  that  manhood  was  lacking 
in  him.  It  was  a  moment  of  temptation.  His  own 
energy,  his  own  intentions,  seemed  so  near;  Chilcote 
and  Chilcote's  claims  so  distant  and  unreal.  After  all, 
s  105 


THE    MASQUERADER 

his  life,  his  ambitions,  his  determinations,  were  his  own. 
He  lifted  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her. 

"You  want  me  to  tell  you  that  I  will  go  on?"  he 
said. 

Her  eyes  brightened;  she  took  a  step  forward. 
"Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  want  it  more  than  anything  in  the 
world." 

There  was  a  wait.  The  declaration  that  would  satis- 
fy her  came  to  Loder's  lips,  but  he  delayed  it.  The 
delay  was  fateful.  While  he  stood  silent  the  door 
opened  and  the  servant  who  had  brought  in  the  tea 
reappeared. 

He  crossed  the  room  and  handed  Loder  a  telegram. 
"Any  answer,  sir?"  he  said. 

Eve  moved  back  to  her  chair.  There  was  a  flush 
on  her  cheeks  and  her  eyes  were  still  alertly  bright. 

Loder  tore  the  telegram  open,  read  it,  then  threw  it 
into  the  fire. 

"No  answer!"  he  said,  laconically. 

At  the  brusqueness  of  his  voice,  Eve  looked  up. 
"  Disagreeable  news  ?"  she  said,  as  the  servant  departed. 

He  didn't  look  at  her.  He  was  watching  the  tele- 
gram withering  in  the  centre  of  the  fire. 

"No,"  he  said  at  last,  in  a  strained  voice.  "No. 
Only  news  that  I — that  I  had  forgotten  to  expect." 


XI 

THERE  was  a  silence — an  uneasy  break — after 
Loder  spoke.  The  episode  of  the  telegram  was, 
to  all  appearances,  ordinary  enough,  calling  forth  Eve's 
question  and  his  own  reply  as  a  natural  sequence;  yet 
in  the  pause  that  followed  it  each  was  conscious  of  a 
jar,  each  was  aware  that  in  some  subtle  way  the  thread 
of  sympathy  had  been  dropped,  though  to  one  the 
cause  was  inexplicable  and  to  the  other  only  too  plain. 

Loder  watched  the  ghost  of  his  message  grow  whiter 
and  thinner,  then  dissolve  into  airy  fragments  and 
flutter  up  the  chimney.  As  the  last  morsel  wavered 
out  of  sight,  he  turned  and  looked  at  his  companion. 

"  You  almost  made  me  commit  myself,"  he  said.  In 
the  desire  to  hide  his  feelings  his  tone  was  short. 

Eve  returned  his  glance  with  a  quiet  regard,  but  he 
scarcely  saw  it.  He  had  a  stupefied  sense  of  disaster;  a 
feeling  of  bitter  self-commiseration  that  for  the  mo- 
ment outweighed  all  other  considerations.  Almost  at 
the  moment  of  justification  the  good  of  life  had  crum- 
bled in  his  fingers,  the  soil  given  beneath  his  feet,  and 
with  an  absence  of  logic,  a  lack  of  justice  unusual  in 
him,  he  let  resentment  against  Chilcote  sweep  suddenly 
over  his  mind. 

Eve,  still  watching  him,  saw  the  darkening  of  his 
expression,  and  with  a  quiet  movement  rose  from  her 
chair. 

107 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"Lady  Sarah  has  a  theatre-party  to-night,  and  I 
am  dining  with  her,"  she  said.  "  It  is  an  early  dinner, 
so  I  must  think  about  dressing.  I'm  sorry  you  think 
I  tried  to  draw  you  into  anything.  I  must  have  ex- 
plained myself  badly."  She  laughed  a  little,  to  cover 
the  slight  discomfiture  that  her  tone  betrayed,  and  as 
she  laughed  she  moved  across  the  room  towards  the 
door. 

Loder,  engrossed  in  the  check  to  his  own  schemes, 
incensed  at  the  suddenness  of  Chilcote's  recall,  and  still 
more  incensed  at  his  own  folly  in  not  having  anticipated 
it,  was  oblivious  for  the  moment  of  both  her  movement 
and  her  words.  Then,  quite  abruptly,  they  obtruded 
themselves  upon  him,  breaking  through  his  egotism 
with  something  of  the  sharpness  of  pain  following  a 
blow.  Turning  quickly  from  the  fireplace,  he  faced 
the  shadowy  room  across  which  she  had  passed,  but 
simultaneously  with  his  turning  she  gained  the  door. 

The  knowledge  that  she  was  gone  struck  him  with 
a  sense  of  double  loss.  "Wait!"  he  called,  suddenly 
moving  forward.  But  almost  at  once  he  paused, 
chilled  by  the  solitude  of  the  room. 

"Eve!"  he  said,  using  her  name  unconsciously  for 
the  first  time. 

But  the  corridor,  as  well  as  the  room ,  was  empty ;  he 
was  too  late.  He  stood  irresolute;  then  he  laughed 
shortly,  turned,  and  passed  back  towards  the  fireplace. 

The  blow  had  fallen,  the  inevitable  come  to  pass,  and 
nothing  remained  but  to  take  the  fact  with  as  good  a 
grace  as  possible.  Chilcote's  telegram  had  summoned 
him  to  Clifford's  Inn  at  seven  o'clock,  and  it  was  now 
well  on  towards  six.  He  pulled  out  his  watch — Chil- 
cote's watch  he  realized,  with  a  touch  of  grim  humor 

108 


THE    MASQUERADER 

as  he  stooped  to  examine  the  dial  by  the  light  of  the 
fire;  then,  as  if  the  humor  had  verged  to  another  feel- 
ing, he  stood  straight  again  and  felt  for  the  electric 
button  in  the  wall.  His  fingers  touched  it,  and  simul- 
taneously the  room  was  lighted. 

The  abrupt  alteration  from  shadow  to  light  came 
almost  as  a  shock.  The  feminine  arrangement  of  the 
tea-table  seemed  incongruous  beside  the  sober  books 
and  the  desk  laden  with  papers — incongruous  as  his 
own  presence  in  the  place.  The  thought  was  un- 
pleasant, and  he  turned  aside  as  if  to  avoid  it;  but  at 
the  movement  his  eyes  fell  on  Chilcote's  cigarette-box 
with  its  gleaming  monogram,  and  the  whimsical 
suggestion  of  his  first  morning  rose  again.  The  idea 
that  the  inanimate  objects  in  the  room  knew  him  for 
what  he  was — recognized  the  interloper  where  human 
eyes  saw  the  rightful  possessor — returned  to  his  mind. 
Through  all  his  disgust  and  chagrin  a  smile  forced 
itself  to  his  lips,  and,  crossing  the  room  for  the  second 
time,  he  passed  into  Chilcote's  bedroom. 

There  the  massive  furniture  and  sombre  atmosphere 
fitted  better  with  his  mood  than  the  energy  and  action 
which  the  study  always  suggested.  Walking  directly 
to  the  great  bed,  he  sat  on  its  side  and  for  several 
minutes  stared  straight  in  front  of  him,  apparently 
seeing  nothing;  then  at  last  the  apathy  passed  from 
him,  as  his  previous  anger  against  Chilcote  had  passed. 
He  stood  up  slowly,  drawing  his  long  limbs  together, 
and  recrossed  the  room,  passing  along  the  corridor 
and  through  the  door  communicating  with  the  rest 
of  the  house.  Five  minutes  later  he  was  in  the  open 
air  and  walking  steadily  eastward,  his  hat  drawn 
forward  and  his  overcoat  buttoned  up. 

109 


THE    MASQUERADER 

As  he  traversed  the  streets  he  allowed  himself  no 
thought. '^Once,  as  he  waited  in  Trafalgar  Square  to 
find  a  passage  between  the  vehicles,  the  remembrance 
of  Chilcote's  voice  coming  out  of  the  fog  on  their  first 
night  made  itself  prominent,  but  he  rejected  it  quickly, 
guarding  himself  from  even  an  involuntary  glance  at 
the  place  of  their  meeting.  The  Strand,  with  its  un- 
ceasing life,  came  to  him  as  something  almost  un- 
familiar. Since  his  identification  with  the  new  life  no 
business  had  drawn  him  east  of  Charing  Cross,  and  his 
first  sight  of  the  narrower  stream  of  traffic  struck  him 
as  garish  and  unpleasant.  As  the  impression  came  he 
accelerated  his  steps,  moved  by  the  wish  to  make 
regret  and  retrospection  alike  impossible  by  a  contact 
with  actual  forces. 

Still  walking  hastily,  he  entered  Clifford's  Inn,  but 
there  almost  unconsciously  his  feet  halted.  There  was 
something  in  the  quiet  immutability  of  the  place  that 
sobered  energy,  both  mental  and  physical.  A  sense  of 
changelessness — the  changelessness  of  inanimate  things, 
that  rises  in  such  solemn  contrast  to  the  variableness 
of  mere  human  nature,  which  a  new  environment,  a 
new  outlook,  sometimes  even  a  new  presence,  has 
power  to  upheave  and  remould.  He  paused;  then 
with  slower  and  steadier  steps  crossed  the  little  court 
and  mounted  the  familiar  stairs  of  his  own  house. 

As  he  turned  the  handle  of  his  own  door  some  one 
stirred  inside  the  sitting-room.  Still  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  stones  and  trees  that  he  had  just  left, 
he  moved  directly  towards  the  sound,  and,  without 
waiting  for  permission,  entered  the  room.  After  the 
darkness  of  the  passage  it  seemed  well  alight,  for, 
besides  the  lamp  with  its  green  shade,  a  large  fire 

no 


THE    MASQUERADER 

burned  in  the  grate  and  helped  to  dispel  the  shad- 
ows. 

As  he  entered  the  room  Chilcote  rose  and  came 
forward,  his  figure  thrown  into  strong  relief  by  the 
double  light.  He  was  dressed  in  a  shabby  tweed  suit; 
his  face  looked  pale  and  set  with  a  slightly  nervous 
tension,  but  besides  the  look  and  a  certain  added 
restlessness  of  glance  there  was  no  visible  change. 
Reaching  Loder,  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"Well?"  he  said,  quickly. 

The  other  looked  at  him  questioningly. 

' '  Well  ?     Well  ?     How  has  it  gone  ? ' ' 

"The  scheme?  Oh,  excellently!"  Loder 's  manner 
was  abrupt.  Turning  from  the  restless  curiosity  in 
Chilcote's  eyes,  he  moved  a  little  way  across  the  room 
and  began  to  draw  off  his  coat.  Then,  as  if  struck 
by  the  incivility  of  the  action,  he  looked  back  again. 
'The  scheme  has  gone  extraordinarily,"  he  said.  "I 
could  almost  say  absurdly.  There  are  some  things, 
Chilcote,  that  fairly  bowl  a  man  over." 

A  great  relief  tinged  Chilcote's  face.  "Good!"  he 
exclaimed.     "Tell  me  all  about  it." 

But  Loder  was  reticent.  The  moment  was  not 
propitious.  It  was  as  if  a  hungry  man  had  dreamed 
a  great  banquet  and  had  awakened  to  his  starvation. 
He  was  chary  of  imparting  his  visions. 

"There's  nothing  to  tell,"  he  said,  shortly.  "All 
that  you'll  want  to  know  is  here  in  black  and  white. 
I  don't  think  you'll  find  I  have  slipped  anything;  it's 
a  clear  business  record."  From  an  inner  pocket  he 
drew  out  a  bulky  note-book,  and,  recrossing  the  room, 
laid  it  open  on  the  table.  It  was  a  correct,  even  a 
minute,  record  of  every  action  that  had  been  accom~ 

in 


THE    MASQUERADER 

plished  in  Chilcote's  name.  "I  don't  think  you'll 
find  any  loose  ends,"  he  said,  as  he  turned  back  the 
pages.  "I  had  you  and  your  position  in  my  mind  all 
through."  He  paused  and  glanced  up  from  the 
book.  "You  have  a  position  that  absolutely  insists 
upon  attention,"  he  added,  in  a  different  voice. 

At  the  new  tone  Chilcote  looked  up  as  well.  "No 
moral  lectures!"  he  said,  with  a  nervous  laugh.  "  I  was 
anxious  to  know  if  you  had  pulled  it  off — and  you  have 
reassured  me.  That's  enough.  I  was  in  a  funk  this 
afternoon  to  know  how  things  were  going — one  of  those 
sudden,  unreasonable  funks.  But  now  that  I  see 
you" — he  cut  himself  short  and  laughed  once  more — 
"now  that  I  see  you,  I'm  hanged  if  I  don't  want  to — 
to  prolong  your  engagement." 

Loder  glanced  at  him,  then  glanced  away.  He  felt 
a  quick  shame  at  the  eagerness  that  rose  at  the  words 
— a  surprised  contempt  at  his  own  readiness  to  antici- 
pate the  man's  weakness.  But  almost  as  speedily  as 
he  had  turned  away  he  looked  back  again. 

"Tush,  man!"  he  said,  with  his  old,  intolerant 
manner.  "You're  dreaming.  You've  had  your  holi- 
day and  school's  begun  again.  You  must  remember 
you  are  dining  with  the  Charringtons  to-night.  Young 
Charrington's  coming  of  age  —  quite  a  big  business. 
Come  along!  I  want  my  clothes."  He  laughed,  and, 
moving  closer  to  Chilcote,  slapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 

Chilcote  started;  then,  suddenly  becoming  imbued 
with  the  other's  manner,  he  echoed  the  laugh. 

"By  Jove!"  he  said,  "you're  right!  You're  quite 
right!  A  man  must  keep  his  feet  in  their  own  groove." 
Raising  his  hand,  he  began  to  fumble  with  his  tie. 

But  Loder  kept  the  same  position.    "You'll  find  the 

II  2 


THE    MASQUERADER 

check-book  in  its  usual  drawer,"  he  said.  "I've  made 
one  entry  of  a  hundred  pounds — pay  for  the  first  week. 
The  rest  can  stand  over  until — "    He  paused  abruptly. 

Chilcote  shifted  his  position.  "Don't  talk  about 
that.  It  upsets  me  to  anticipate.  I  can  make  out 
a  check  to-morrow  payable  to  John  Loder." 

"No.  That  can  wait.  The  name  of  Loder  is  better 
out  of  the  book.  We  can't  be  too  careful."  Loder 
spoke  with  unusual  impetuosity.  Already  a  slight, 
unreasonable  jealousy  was  coloring  his  thoughts.  Al- 
ready he  grudged  the  idea  of  Chilcote  with  his  unstable 
glance  and  restless  fingers  opening  the  drawers  and 
sorting  the  papers  that  for  one  stupendous  fortnight 
had  been  his  without  question.  Turning  aside,  he 
changed  the  subject  brusquely. 

"Come  into  the  bedroom,"  he  said.  "It's  half-past 
seven  if  it's  a  minute,  and  the  Charringtons'  show  is  at 
nine."  Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  walked  across 
the  room  and  held  the  door  open. 

There  was  no  silence  while  they  exchanged  clothes. 
Loder  talked  continuously,  sometimes  in  short,  curt 
sentences,  sometimes  with  ironic  touches  of  humor;  he 
talked  until  Chilcote,  strangely  affected  by  contact 
with  another  personality  after  his  weeks  of  solitude, 
fell  under  his  influence  —  his  excitement  rising,  his 
imagination  stirring  at  the  novelty  of  change.  At  last, 
garbed  once  more  in  the  clothes  of  his  own  world,  he 
passed  from  the  bedroom  back  into  the  sitting-room, 
and  there  halted,  waiting  for  his  companion. 

Almost  directly  Loder  followed.  He  came  into  the 
room  quietly,  and,  moving  at  once  to  the  table,  picked 
up  the  note-book. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  preach,"  he  began,  "  so  you  needn't 

113 


THE    MASQUERADER 

shut  me  up.  But  I'll  say  just  one  thing  —  a  thing 
that  will  get  said.  Try  and  keep  your  hold!  Re- 
member your  responsibilities — and  keep  your  hold!" 
He  spoke  energetically,  looking  earnestly  into  Chilcote's 
eyes.  He  did  not  realize  it,  but  he  was  pleading  for 
his  own  career. 

Chilcote  paled  a  little,  as  he  always  did  in  face  of  a 
reality.     Then  he  extended  his  hand. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  hauteur, 
"a  man  can  generally  be  trusted  to  look  after  his 
own  life." 

Extricating  his  hand  almost  immediately,  he  turned 
towards  the  door  and  without  a  word  of  farewell  passed 
into  the  little  hall,  leaving  Loder  alone  in  the  sitting- 
room. 


XII 

ON  the  night  of  Chilcote's  return  to  his  own,  Loder 
tasted  the  lees  of  life  poignantly  for  the  first  time. 
Before  their  curious  compact  had  been  entered  upon 
he  had  been,  if  not  content,  at  least  apathetic;  but  with 
action  the  apathy  had  been  dispersed,  never  again  to 
regain  its  old  position. 

He  realized  with  bitter  certainty  that  his  was  no  real 
home-coming.  On  entering  Chilcote's  house  he  had 
experienced  none  of  the  unfamiliarity,  none  of  the  un- 
settled awkwardness,  that  assailed  him  now.  There 
he  had  almost  seemed  the  exile  returning  after  many 
hardships;  here,  in  the  atmosphere  made  common  by 
years,  he  felt  an  alien.  It  was  illustrative  of  the  man's 
character  that  sentimentalities  found  no  place  in  his 
nature.  Sentiments  were  not  lacking,  though  they 
lay  out  of  sight,  but  sentimentalities  he  altogether 
denied. 

Left  alone  in  the  sitting-room  after  Chilcote's  de- 
parture, his  first  sensation  was  one  of  physical  dis- 
comfort and  unfamiliarity.  His  own  clothes,  with  their 
worn  looseness,  brought  no  sense  of  friendliness  such 
as  some  men  find  in  an  old  garment.  Lounging,  and 
the  clothes  that  suggested  lounging,  had  no  appeal  for 
him.  In  his  eyes  the  garb  that  implies  responsibility 
was  symbolic  and  even  inspiring. 

And,  as  with  clothes,  so  with  his  actual  surround- 

"5 


THE    MASQUERADEK 

ings.  Each  detail  of  his  room  was  familiar,  but  not 
one  had  ever  become  intimately  close.  He  had  used 
the  place  for  years,  but  he  had  used  it  as  he  might  use  a 
hotel;  and  whatever  of  his  household  gods  had  come 
with  him  remained,  like  himself,  on  sufferance.  His 
entrance  into  Chilcote's  surroundings  had  been  al- 
together different.  Unknown  to  himself,  he  had  been 
in  the  position  of  a  young  artist  who,  having  roughly 
modelled  in  clay,  is  brought  into  the  studio  of  a 
sculptor.  To  his  outward  vision  everything  is  new, 
but  his  inner  sight  leaps  to  instant  understanding. 
Amid  all  the  strangeness  he  recognizes  the  one  es- 
sential— the  workshop,  the  atmosphere,  the  home. 

On  this  first  night  of  return  Loder  comprehended 
something  of  his  position;  and,  comprehending,  he 
faced  the  problem  and  fought  with  it. 

He  had  made  his  bargain  and  must  pay  his  share. 
Weighing  this,  he  had  looked  about  his  room  with  a 
quiet  gaze.  Then  at  last,  as  if  finding  the  object  really 
sought  for,  his  eyes  had  come  round  to  the  mantel-piece 
and  rested  on  the  pipe-rack.  The  pipes  stood  precisely 
as  he  had  left  them.  He  had  looked  at  them  for  a 
long  time,  then  an  ironic  expression  that  was  almost 
a  smile  had  touched  his  lips,  and,  crossing  the  room, 
he  had  taken  the  oldest  and  blackest  from  its  place  and 
slowly  filled  it  with  tobacco. 

With  the  first  indrawn  breath  of  smoke  his  attitude 
had  unbent.  Without  conscious  determination,  he 
had  chosen  the  one  factor  capable  of  easing  his  mood. 
A  cigarette  is  for  the  trivial  moments  of  life;  a  cigar 
for  its  fulfilments,  its  pleasant,  comfortable  retrospec- 
tions; but  in  real  distress — in  the  solving  of  question, 
the  fighting  of  difficulty — a  pipe  is  man's  eternal  solace. 

116 


THE    MASQUERADER 

So  he  had  passed  the  first  night  of  his  return  to  the 
actualities  of  life.  Next  day  his  mind  was  somewhat 
settled  and  outward  aid  was  not  so  essential;  but 
though  facts  faced  him  more  solidly,  they  were  never- 
theless very  drab  in  shade.  The  necessity  for  work, 
that  blessed  antidote  to  ennui,  no  longer  forced  him  to 
endeavor.  He  was  no  longer  penniless;  but  the  money 
he  possessed  brought  with  it  no  desires.  When  a 
man  has  lived  from  hand  to  mouth  for  years,  and 
suddenly  finds  himself  with  a  hundred  pounds  in  his 
pocket,  the  result  is  sometimes  curious.  He  finds 
with  a  vague  sense  of  surprise  that  he  has  forgotten 
how  to  spend.  That  extravagance,  like  other  artificial 
passions,  requires  cultivation. 

This  he  realized  even  more  fully  on  the  days  that 
followed  the  night  of  his  first  return;  and  with  it 
was  born  a  new  bitterness.  The  man  who  has  friends 
and  no  money  may  find  life  difficult;  but  the  man 
who  has  money  and  no  friend  to  rejoice  in  his  fortune 
or  benefit  by  his  generosity  is  aloof  indeed.  With  the 
leaven  of  incredulity  that  works  in  all  strong  natures, 
Loder  distrusted  the  professional  beggar  —  therefore 
the  charity  that  bestows  easily  and  promiscuously  was 
donied  him ;  and  of  other  channels  of  generosity  he  was 
too  self-contained  to  have  learned  the  secret. 

When  depression  falls  upon  a  man  of  usually  even 
temperament  it  descends  with  a  double  weight.  The 
mercurial  nature  has  a  hundred  counterbalancing 
devices  to  rid  itself  of  gloom — a  sudden  lifting  of 
spirit,  a  memory  of  other  moods  lived  through,  other 
blacknesses  dispersed  by  time;  but  the  man  of  level 
nature  has  none  of  these.  Depression,  when  it  comes, 
is  indeed  depression ;  no  phase  of  mind  to  be  superseded 

117 


THE    MASQUERADER 

by  another  phase,  but  a  slackening  of  all  the  chords  of 
life. 

It  was  through  such  a  depression  as  this  that  he 
labored  during  three  weeks,  while  no  summons  and  no 
hint  of  remembrance  came  from  Chilcote.  His  posi- 
tion was  peculiarly  difficult.  He  found  no  action  in 
the  present,  and  towards  the  future  he  dared  not  trust 
himself  to  look.  He  had  slipped  the  old  moorings 
that  familiarity  had  rendered  endurable;  but  having 
slipped  them,  he  had  found  no  substitute.  Such  was 
his  case  on  the  last  night  of  the  three  weeks,  and  such 
his  frame  of  mind  as  he  crossed  Fleet  Street  from 
Clifford's  Inn  to  Middle  Temple  Lane. 

It  was  scarcely  seven  o'clock,  but  already  the  dusk 
was  falling;  the  greater  press  of  vehicles  had  ceased, 
and  the  light  of  the  street  lamps  gleamed  back  from  the 
spaces  of  dry  and  polished  roadway,  worn  smooth  as  a 
mirror  by  wheels  and  hoofs.  Something  of  the  solitude 
of  night  that  sits  so  ill  on  the  strenuous  city  street 
was  making  itself  felt,  though  the  throngs  of  people 
on  the  pathway  still  streamed  eastward  and  westward 
and  the  taverns  made  a  busy  trade. 

Having  crossed  the  roadway,  Loder  paused  for  a 
moment  to  survey  the  scene.  But  humanity  in  the 
abstract  made  small  appeal  to  him,  and  his  glance 
wandered  from  the  passers-by  to  the  buildings  massed 
like  clouds  against  the  dark  sky.  As  his  gaze  moved 
slowly  from  one  to  the  other  a  clock  near  at  hand  struck 
seven,  and  an  instant  later  the  chorus  was  taken  up 
by  a  dozen  clamorous  tongues.  Usually  he  scarcely 
heard,  and  never  heeded,  these  innumerable  chimes; 
but  this  evening  their  effect  was  strange.  Coming  out 
of  the  darkness,  they  seemed  to  possess  a  personal  note. 

118 


THE    MASQUERADER 

a  human  declaration.  The  impression  was  fantastic, 
but  it  was  strong;  with  a  species  of  revolt  against  life 
and  his  own  personality,  he  turned  slowly  and  moved 
forward  in  the  direction  of  Ludgate  Hill. 

For  a  space  he  continued  his  course,  then,  reaching 
Bouverie  Street,  he  turned  sharply  to  the  right  and 
made  his  way  down  the  slight  incline  that  leads  to  the 
Embankment.  There  he  paused  and  drew  a  long 
breath.  The  sense  of  space  and  darkness  soothed  him. 
Pulling  his  cap  over  his  eyes,  he  crossed  to  the  river  and 
walked  on  in  the  direction  of  Westminster  Bridge. 

As  he  walked  the  great  mass  of  water  by  his  side 
looked  dense  and  smooth  as  oil  with  its  sweeping  width 
and  network  of  reflected. light.  On  its  farther  bank 
rose  the  tall  buildings,  the  chimneys,  the  flaring  lights 
that  suggest  another  and  an  alien  London;  close  at 
hand  stretched  the  solid  stone  parapet,  giving  assur- 
ance of  protection. 

All  these  things  he  saw  with  his  mental  eyes,  but 
with  his  mental  eyes  only,  for  his  physical  gaze  was 
fixed  ahead  where  the  Houses  of  Parliament  loomed 
out  of  the  dusk.  From  the  great  building  his  eyes  never 
wavered  until  the  Embankment  was  traversed  and 
Westminster  Bridge  reached.  Then  he  paused,  resting 
his  arms  on  the  coping  of  the  bridge, 

In  the  tense  quietude  of  the  darkness  the  place 
looked  vast  and  inspiring.  The  shadowy  Terrace,  the 
silent  river,  the  rows  of  lighted  windows,  each  was 
significant.  Slowly  and  comprehensively  his  glance 
passed  from  one  to  the  other.  He  was  no  senti- 
mentalist and  no  dreamer;  his  act  was  simply  the  act 
of  a  man  whose  interests,  robbed  of  their  natural  outlet, 
turn  instinctively  towards  the  forms  and  symbols  of 

119 


THE    MASQUERADER 

the  work  that  is  denied  them.  His  scrutiny  was 
steady — even  cold.  He  was  raised  to  no  exaltation 
by  the  vastness  of  the  building,  nor  was  he  chilled 
by  any  dwarfing  of  himself.  He  looked  at  it  long  and 
thoughtfully;  then,  again  moving  slowly,  he  turned 
and  retraced  his  steps. 

His  mind  was  full  as  he  walked  back,  still  oblivious 
of  the  stone  parapet  of  the  Embankment,  the  bare  trees, 
and  the  flaring  lights  of  the  advertisements  across  the 
water.  Turning  to  the  left,  he  regained  Fleet  Street 
and  made  for  his  own  habitation  with  the  quiet  accu- 
racy that  some  men  exhibit  in  moments  of  absorption. 

He  crossed  Clifford's  Inn  with  the  same  slow,  almost 
listless  step;  then,  as  his  own  doorway  came  into  view, 
he  stopped.     Some  one  was  standing  in  its  recess. 

For  a  moment  he  wondered  if  his  fancy  were  playing 
him  a  trick;  then  his  reason  sprang  to  certainty  with 
so  fierce  a  leap  that  for  an  instant  his  mind  recoiled. 
For  we  more  often  stand  aghast  at  the  strength  of  our 
own  feelings  than  before  the  enormity  of  our  neighbor's 

actions. 

"Is  that  you,  Chilcote?"  he  said,  below  his  breath. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  the  other  wheeled  round. 
"Hallo'"  he  said.  "I  thought  you  were  the  ghost  of 
some   old   inhabitant.     I    suppose   I   am   very   unex- 

oected  ^' ' 

Loder  took  the  hand  that  he  extended  and  pressed 
the  fingers  unconsciously.  The  sight  of  this  man  was 
like  the  finding  of  an  oasis  at  the  point  where  the  desert 
is  sandiest,  deadliest,  most  unbearable. 

"Yes,  you  are— unexpected,"  he  answered. 

Chilcote  looked  at  him,  then  looked  out  into  the 
court.     "I'm  done  up,"  he  said.     "  I'm  right  at  the  end 

1 20 


THE    MASQUERADER 

of  the  tether."  He  laughed  as  he  said  it,  but  in  the 
dim  light  of  the  hall  Loder  thought  his  face  looked  ill 
and  harassed  despite  the  flush  that  the  excitement  of 
the  meeting  had  brought  to  it.  Taking  his  arm,  he 
drew  him  towards  the  stairs. 

"So  the  rope  has  run  out,  eh?"  he  said,  in  imitation 
of  the  other's  tone.  But  under  the  quiet  of  his  manner 
his  own  nerves  were  throbbing  with  the  peculiar  alert- 
ness of  anticipation;  a  sudden  sense  of  mastery  over 
life,  that  lifted  him  above  surroundings  and  above 
persons — a  sense  of  stature,  mental  and  physical,  from 
which  he  surveyed  the  world.  He  felt  as  if  fate,  in  the 
moment  of  utter  darkness,  had  given  him  a  sign. 

As  they  crossed  the  hall,  Chilcote  had  drawn  away 
and  was  already  mounting  the  stairs.  And  as  Loder 
followed,  it  came  sharply  to  his  mind  that  here,  in  the 
slipshod  freedom  of  a  door  that  was  always  open  and 
stairs  that  were  innocent  of  covering,  lay  his  com- 
panion's real  niche — unrecognized  in  outward  avowal, 
but  acknowledged  by  the  inward,  keener  sense  that 
manifests  the  individual. 

In  silence  they  mounted  the  stairs,  but  on  the  first 
landing  Chilcote  paused  and  looked  back,  surveying 
Loder  from  the  superior  height  of  two  steps. 

"  I  did  very  well  at  first,"  he  said.  "  I  did  very  well 
— I  almost  followed  your  example,  for  a  week  or  so.  I 
found  myself  on  a  sort  of  pinnacle — and  I  clung  on. 
But  in  the  last  ten  days  I've — I've  rather  lapsed." 

"Why  ?"  Loder  avoided  looking  at  his  face ;  he  kept 
his  eyes  fixed  determinately  on  the  spot  where  his  own 
hand  gripped  the  banister. 

"Why?"  Chilcote  repeated.  "Oh,  the  prehistoric 
tale  —  weakness   stronger  than   strength.     I'm  —  I'm 

y  121 


THE    MASQUERADER 

sorry  to  come  down  on  you  like  this,  but  it's  the  social 
side  that  bowls  me  over.  It's  the  social  side  I  can't 
stick." 

"The  social  side ?     But  I  thought—" 

"Don't  think.  I  never  think;  it  entails  such  a  con- 
stant upsetting  of  principles  and  theories.  We  did 
arrange  for  business  only,  but  one  can't  set  up  barriers. 
Society  pushes  itself  everywhere  nowadays — into  busi- 
ness most  of  all.  I  don't  want  you  for  theatre-parties 
or  dinners.  But  a  big  reception  with  a  political  flavor 
is  different.  A  man  has  to  be  seen  at  these  things;  he 
needn't  say  anything  or  do  anything,  but  it's  bad  form 
if  he  fails  to  show  up." 

Loder  raised  his  head.  "You  must  explain,"  he 
said,  abruptly. 

Chilcote  started  slightly  at  the  sudden  demand. 

"  I — I  suppose  I'm  rather  irrelevant,"  he  said,  quick- 
ly. "Fact  is,  there's  a  reception  at  the  Bramfells'  to- 
night. You  know  Blanche  Bramfell  —  Viscountess 
Bramfell,  sister  to  Lillian  Astrupp."  His  words  con- 
veyed nothing  to  Loder,  but  he  did  not  consider  that. 
All  explanations  were  irksome  to  him  and  he  invariably 
chafed  to  be  done  with  them. 

"And  you've  got  to  put  in  an  appearance — for  party 
reasons?"  Loder  broke  in. 

Chilcote  showed  relief.  "Yes.  Old  Fraide  makes 
rather  a  point  of  it — so  does  Eve."  He  said  the  last 
words  carelessly;  then,  as  if  their  sound  recalled  some- 
thing, his  expression  changed.  A  touch  of  satirical 
amusement  touched  his  lips  and  he  laughed. 

"  By-the-way,  Loder,"  he  said,  "my  wife  was  actually 
tolerant  of  me  for  nine  or  ten  days  after  my  return.  I 
thought  your  representation  was  to  be  quite  imper- 

122 


THE    MASQUERADER 

sonal?  I'm  not  jealous,"  he  laughed.  "I'm  not  jeal- 
ous, I  assure  you;  but  the  burned  child  shouldn't  grow 
absent-minded. ' ' 

At  his  tone  and  his  laugh  Loder's  blood  stirred;  with 
a  sudden,  unexpected  impulse  his  hand  tightened  on 
the  banister,  and,  looking  up,  he  caught  sight  of  the 
face  above  him — his  own  face,  it  seemed,  alight  with 
malicious  interest.  At  the  sight  a  strange  sensation 
seized  him;  his  grip  on  the  banister  loosened,  and,  push- 
ing past  Chilcote,  he  hurriedly  mounted  the  stairs. 

Outside  his  own  door  the  other  overtook  him. 

"Loder!"  he  said.  "Loder!  I  meant  no  harm.  A 
man  must  have  a  laugh  sometimes." 

But  Loder  was  facing  the  door  and  did  not  turn 
round. 

A  sudden  fear  shook  Chilcote.  "Loder!"-  he  ex- 
claimed again,  "you  wouldn't  desert  me?  I  can't  go 
back  to-night.     I  can't  go  back." 

Still  Loder  remained  immovable. 

Alarmed  by  his  silence,  Chilcote  stepped  closer  to 
him. 

"Loder!  Loder,  you  won't  desert  me?"  He  caught 
hastily  at  his  arm. 

With  a  quick  repulsion  Loder  shook  him  off;  then 
almost  as  quickly  he  turned  round. 

"What  fools  we  all  are!"  he  said,  abruptly.  "We 
only  differ  in  degree.  Come  in,  and  let  us  change  ouf 
clothes." 


XIII 

THE  best  moments  of  a  man's  life  are  the  moments 
when,  strong  in  himself,  he  feels  that  the  world 
lies  before  him.  Gratified  ambition  may  be  the  sum- 
mer, but  anticipation  is  the  ardent  spring-time  of  a 
man's  career. 

As  Loder  drove  that  night  from  Fleet  Street  to  Gros- 
venor  Square  he  realized  this — though  scarcely  with 
any  degree  of  consciousness — for  he  was  no  accom- 
plished self-analyst.  But  in  a  wave  of  feeling  too 
vigorous  to  be  denied  he  recognized  his  regained  foot- 
hold— the  step  that  lifted  him  at  once  from  the  pit  to 
the  pinnacle. 

In  that  moment  of  realization  he  looked  neither 
backward  nor  forward.  The  present  was  all-sufficing. 
Difficulties  might  loom  ahead,  but  difficulties  had  but 
one  object — the  testing  and  sharpening  of  a  man's 
strength.  In  the  first  deep  surge  of  egotistical  feeling 
he  almost  rejoiced  in*  Chilcote's  weakness.  The  more 
Chilcote  tangled  the  threads  of  his  life,  the  stronger 
must  be  the  fingers  that  unravelled  them.  He  was 
possessed  by  a  great  impatience ;  the  joy  of  action  was 
stirring  in  his  blood. 

Leaving  the  cab,  he  walked  confidently  to  the  door 
of  Chilcote's  house  and  inserted  the  latch-key.  Even 
in  this  small  act  there  was  a  grain  of  individual  satis- 
faction. Then  very  quietly  he  opened  the  door  and 
crossed  the  hall. 

124 


THE    MASQUERADER 

As  he  entered,  a  footman  was  arranging  the  fire  that 
burned  in  the  big  grate.     Seeing  the  man,  he  halted. 

"Where  is  your  mistress?"  he  asked,  in  unconscious 
repetition  of  his  first  question  in  the  same  house. 

The  man  looked  up.  "She  has  just  finished  dinner, 
sir.  She  dined  alone  in  her  own  room."  He  glanced 
at  Loder  in  the  quick,  uncertain  way  that  was  noticeable 
in  all  the  servants  of  the  household  when  they  addressed 
their  master.  Loder  saw  the  look  and  wondered  what 
depth  of  curiosity  it  betrayed,  how  much  of  insight  into 
the  domestic  life  that  he  must  always  be  content  to 
skim.  For  an  instant  the  old  resentment  against 
Chilcote  tinged  his  exaltation,  but  he  swept  it  angrily 
aside.  Without  further  remark  he  began  to  mount  the 
stairs. 

Gaining  the  landing,  he  did  not  turn  as  usual  to  the 
door  that  shut  off  Chilcote's  rooms,  but  moved  onward 
down  the  corridor  towards  Eve's  private  sitting-room. 
He  moved  slowly  till  the  door  was  reached;  then  he 
paused  and  lifted  his  hand.  There  was  a  moment's 
wait  while  his  fingers  rested  on  the  handle;  then  a 
sensation  he  could  not  explain  —  a  reticence,  a  reluc- 
tance to  intrude  upon  this  one  precinct — caused  his 
fingers  to  relax.  With  a  slightly  embarrassed  gesture 
he  drew  back  slowly  and  retraced  his  steps. 

Once  in  Chilcote's  bedroom,  he  walked  to  the  nearest 
bell  and  pressed  it.  Renwick  responded,  and  at  sight 
of  him  Loder's  feelings  warmed  with  the  same  sense  of 
fitness  and  familiarity  that  the  great  bed  and  sombre 
furniture  of  the  room  had  inspired. 

But  the  man  did  not  come  forward  as  he  had  expect- 
ed. He  remained  close  to  the  door  with  a  hesitation 
that  was  unusual  in  a  trained  servant.     It  struck  Loder 

i25 


THE    MASQUERADER 

that  possibly  his  stolidity  had  exasperated  Chilcote, 
and  that  possibly  Chilcote  had  been  at  no  pains  to 
conceal  the  exasperation.  The  idea  caused  him  to 
smile  involuntarily. 

"Come  into  the  room,  Renwick,"  he  said.  "It's 
uncomfortable  to  see  you  standing  there.  I  want  to 
know  if  Mrs.  Chilcote  has  sent  me  any  message  about 
to-night." 

Renwick  studied  him  furtively  as  he  came  forward. 
"Yes,  sir,"  he  said.  "Mrs.  Chilcote's  maid  said  that 
the  carriage  was  ordered  for  ten-fifteen,  and  she  hoped 
that  would  suit  you."  He  spoke  reluctantly,  as  if 
expecting  a  rebuke. 

At  the  opening  sentence  Loder  had  turned  aside,  but 
now,  as  the  man  finished,  he  wheeled  round  again  and 
looked  at  him  closely  with  his  keen,  observant  eyes. 

"Look  here,"  he  said.  "I  can't  have  you  speak 
to  me  like  that.  I  may  come  down  on  you  rather 
sharply  when  my — my  nerves  are  bad;  but  when  I'm 
myself  I  treat  you — well,  I  treat  you  decently,  at  any 
rate.  You'll  have  to  learn  to  discriminate.  Look  at 
me  now!"  A  thrill  of  risk  and  of  rulership  passed 
through  him  as  he  spoke.  "Look  at  me  now!  Do 
I  look  as  I  looked  this  morning — or  yesterday?" 

The  man  eyed  him  half  stupidly,  half  timidly. 

"Well?"  Loder  insisted. 

'Well,  sir,"  Renwick  responded,  with  some  slowness, 
"you  look  the  same  —  and  you  look  different.  A 
healthier  color,  perhaps,  sir  —  and  the  eye  clearer." 
He  grew  more  confident  under  Loder's  half-humorous, 
half-insistent  gaze.     "Now  that  I  look  closer,  sir — " 

Loder  laughed.  "That's  it!"  he  said.  "Now  that 
you    look   closer.     You'll    have    to    grow   observant; 

126 


THE    MASQUERADER 

observation  is  an  excellent  quality  in  a  servant.  When 
you  come  into  a  room  in  future,  look  first  of  all  at  me — 
and  take  your  cue  from  that.  Remember  that  serving 
a  man  with  nerves  is  like  serving  two  masters.  Now 
you  can  go;  and  tell  Mrs.  Chilcote's  maid  that  I  shall 
be  quite  ready  at  a  quarter-past  ten." 

"Yes,  sir.     And  after  that?" 

"Nothing  further.  I  sha'n't  want  you  again  to- 
night." He  turned  away  as  he  spoke,  and  moved 
towards  the  great  fire  that  was  always  kept  alight  in 
Chilcote's  room.  But  as  the  man  moved  towards  the 
door  he  wheeled  back  again.  "Oh,  one  thing  more, 
Ren  wick!  Bring  me  some  sandwiches  and  a  whiskey." 
He  remembered  for  the  first  time  that  he  had  eaten 
nothing  since  early  afternoon. 

At  a  few  minutes  after  ten  Loder  left  Chilcote's  room, 
resolutely  descended  the  stairs,  and  took  up  his  position 
in  the  hall.  Resolution  is  a  strong  word  to  apply  to 
.such  a  proceeding,  but  something  in  his  bearing,  in  the 
attitude  of  his  shoulders  and  head,  instinctively  sug- 
gested it. 

Five  or  six  minutes  passed,  but  he  waited  without 
impatience ;  then  at  last  the  sound  of  a  carriage  stop- 
ping before  the  house  caused  him  to  lift  his  head,  and 
at  the  same  instant  Eve  appeared  at  the  head  of  the 
staircase. 

She  stood  there  for  a  second,  looking  down  on  him, 
her  maid  a  pace  or  two  behind,  holding  her  cloak. 
The  picture  she  made  struck  upon  his  mind  with  some- 
thing of  a  revelation. 

On  his  first  sight  of  her  she  had  appealed  to  him  as  a 
strange  blending  of  youth  and  self-possession — a  girl 

127 


THE    MASQUERADER 

with  a  woman's  clearer  perception  of  life;  later,  he  had 
been  drawn  to  study  her  in  other  aspects — as  a  possible 
comrade  and  friend;  now  for  the  first  time  he  saw  her 
as  a  power  in  her  own  world,  a  woman  to  whom  no 
man  could  deny  consideration.  She  looked  taller  for 
the  distance  between  them,  and  the  distinction  of  her 
carriage  added  to  the  effect.  Her  black  gown  was 
exquisitely  soft — as  soft  as  her  black  hair;  above  her 
forehead  was  a  cluster  of  splendid  diamonds  shaped 
like  a  coronet,  and  a  band  of  the  same  stones  encircled 
her  neck.  Loder  realized  in  a  glance  that  only  the 
most  distinguished  of  women  could  wear  such  orna- 
ments and  not  have  her  beauty  eclipsed.  With  a 
touch  of  the  old  awkwardness  that  had  before  assailed 
him  in  her  presence,  he  came  slowly  forward  as  she 
descended  the  stairs. 

"Can  I  help  you  with  your  cloak?"  he  asked.  And 
as  he  asked  it,  something  like  surprise  at  his  own 
timidity  crossed  his  mind. 

For  a  second  Eve's  glance  rested  on  his  face.  Her 
expression  was  quite  impassive,  but  as  she  lowered  her' 
lashes  a  faint  gleam  flickered  across  her  eyes;  never- 
theless, her  answer,  when  it  came,  was  studiously 
courteous. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  "but  Marie  will  do  all  I 
want." 

Loder  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  then  turned  aside. 
He  was  not  hurt  by  his  rebuff ;  rather,  by  an  interesting 
sequence  of  impressions,  he  was  stirred  by  it.  The 
pride  that  had  refused  Chilcote's  help,  and  the  self- 
control  that  had  refused  it  graciously,  moved  him  to 
admiration.  He  understood  and  appreciated  both  by 
the  light  of  personal  experience. 

128 


THE    MASQUhRADER 

"The  carriage  is  waiting,  sir,"  Crapham's  voice 
broke  in. 

Loder  nodded,  and  Eve  turned  to  her  maid.  "That 
will  do,  Marie,"  she  said.  "I  shall  want  a  cup  of 
chocolate  when  I  get  back — probably  at  one  o'clock." 
She  drew  her  cloak  about  her  shoulders  and  moved 
towards  the  door.  Then  she  paused  and  looked  back. 
"  Shall  we  start  ?"  she  asked,  quietly. 

Loder,  still  watching  her,  came  forward  at  once. 
"Certainly,"  he  said,  with  unusual  gentleness. 

He  followed  her  as  she  crossed  the  footpath,  but  made 
no  further  offer  of  help;  and  when  the  moment  came 
he  quietly  took  his  place  beside  her  in  the  carriage. 
His  last  impression,  as  the  horses  wheeled  round,  was 
of  the  open  hall  door — Crapham  in  his  sombre  livery 
and  the  maid  in  her  black  dress,  both  silhouetted 
against  the  dark  background  of  the  hall;  then,  as  the 
carriage  moved  forward  smoothly  and  rapidly,  he 
leaned  back  in  his  seat  and  closed  his  eyes. 

During  the  first  few  moments  of  the  drive  there  was 
silence.  To  Loder  there  was  a  strange,  new  sensation 
in  this  companionship,  so  close  and  yet  so  distant.  He 
was  so  near  to  Eve  that  the  slight  fragrant  scent  from 
her  clothes  might  almost  have  belonged  to  his  own. 
The  impression  was  confusing  yet  vaguely  delightful. 
It  was  years  since  he  had  been  so  close  to  a  woman  of 
his  own  class — his  own  caste.  He  acknowledged  the 
thought  with  a  curious  sense  of  pleasure.  Involun- 
tarily he  turned  and  looked  at  her. 

She  was  sitting  very  straight,  her  fine  profile  cut 
clear  against  the  carriage  window,  her  diamonds  quiver- 
ing in  the  light  that  flashed  by  them  from  the  street. 
For  a  space  the  sense  of  unreality  that  had  pervaded 

129 


THE    MASQUERADER 

his  first  entrance  into  Chilcote's  life  touched  him  again, 
then  another  and  more  potent  feeling  rose  to  quell 
it.  Almost  involuntarily  as  he  looked  at  her  his  lips 
parted. 

"May  I  say  something?"  he  asked. 

Eve  remained  motionless.  She  did  not  turn  her 
head,  as  most  women  would  have  done.  "Say  any- 
thing you  like,"  she  said,  gravely. 

"Anything?"  He  bent  a  little  nearer,  filled  again 
by  the  inordinate  wish  to  dominate. 

"Of  course." 

It  seemed  to  him  that  her  voice  sounded  forced  and 
a  little  tired.  For  a  moment  he  looked  through  the 
window  at  the  passing  lights;  then  slowly  his  gaze  re- 
turned to  her  face. 

"You  look  very  beautiful  to-night,"  he  said.  His 
voice  was  low  and  his  manner  unemotional,  but  his 
words  had  the  effect  he  desired. 

She  turned  her  head,  and  her  eyes  met  his  in  a 
glance  of  curiosity  and  surprise. 

Slight  as  the  triumph  was,  it  thrilled  him.  The 
small  scene  with  Chilcote's  valet  came  back  to  him; 
his  own  personality  moved  him  again  to  a  reckless 
determination  to  make  his  own  voice  heard.  Leaning 
forward,  he  laid  his  hand  lightly  on  her  arm. 

"Eve,"  he  said,  quickly  —  "Eve,  do  you  remem- 
ber— "  Then  he  paused  and  withdrew  his  hand.  The 
horses  had  slackened  speed,  then  stopped  altogether 
as  the  carriage  fell  into  line  outside  Bramfell  House. 


XIV 

LODER  entered  Lady  Bramfell's  feeling  far  more 
j  like  an  actor  in  a  drama  than  an  ordinary  man  in 
a  peculiar  situation.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
played  Chilcote  to  a  purely  social  audience,  and  the 
first  time  for  many  years  that  he  had  rubbed  shoulders 
with  a  well-dressed  crowd  ostensibly  brought  together 
for  amusement.  As  he  followed  Eve  along  the  corridor 
that  led  to  the  reception  -  rooms  he  questioned  the 
reality  of  the  position  again  and  again ;  then  abruptly, 
at  the  moment  when  the  sensation  of  unfamiliarity  was 
strongest,  a  cheery  voice  hailed  him,  and,  turning,  he 
saw  the  square  shoulders,  light  eyes,  and  pointed  mus- 
tache of  Lakeley,  the  owner  of  the  St.  George's  Gazette. 

At  the  sight  of  the  man  and  the  sound  of  his  greeting 
his  doubts  and  speculations  vanished.  The  essentials 
of  life  rose  again  to  the  position  they  had  occupied 
three  weeks  ago,  in  the  short  but  strenuous  period  when 
his  dormant  activities  had  been  stirred  and  he  had 
recognized  his  true  self.  He  lifted  his  head  uncon- 
sciously, the  shade  of  misgiving  that  had  crossed  his 
confidence  passing  from  him  as  he  smiled  at  Lakeley 
with  a  keen,  alert  pleasure  that  altered  his  whole  face. 

Eve,  looking  back,  saw  the  expression.  It  attracted 
and  held  her,  like  a  sudden  glimpse  into  a  secret  room. 
In  all  the  years  of  her  marriage,  in  the  months  of  her 
courtship  even,  she  had  never  surprised  the  look  on 

131 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Chilcote's  face.  The  impression  came  quickly,  and 
with  it  a  strange,  warm  rush  of  interest  that  receded 
slowly,  leaving  an  odd  sense  of  loneliness.  But,  at  the 
moment  that  the  feeling  came  and  passed,  her  attention 
was  claimed  in  another  direction.  A  slight,  fair-haired 
boy  forced  his  way  towards  her  through  the  press  of 
people  that  filled  the  corridor. 

"Mrs.  Chilcote!"  he  exclaimed.  "Can  I  believe 
my  luck  in  finding  you  alone?" 

Eve  laughed.  It  seemed  that  there  was  relief  in  her 
laugh.  "How  absurd  you  are,  Bobby!"  she  said, 
kindly.  "  But  you  are  wrong.  My  husband  is  here — 
I  am  waiting  for  him." 

Blessington  looked  round.  "Oh!"  he  said.  "In- 
deed!" Then  he  relapsed  into  silence.  He  was  the 
soul  of  good-nature,  but  those  who  knew  him  best  knew 
that  Chilcote's  summary  change  of  secretaries  had 
rankled.  Eve,  conscious  of  the  little  jar,  made  haste 
to  smooth  it  away. 

'Tell  me  about  yourself,"  she  said.  "What  have 
you  been  doing?" 

Blessington  looked  at  her,  then  smiled  again,  his 
buoyancy  restored.  "Doing?"  he  said.  "Oh,  calling 
every  other  afternoon  at  Grosvenor  Square — only  to 
find  that  a  certain  lady  is  never  at  home." 

At  his  tone  Eve  laughed  again.  The  boy,  with  his 
frank  and  ingenuous  nature,  had  beguiled  many  a  dull 
hour  for  her  in  past  days,  and  she  had  missed  him  not 
a  little  when  his  place  had  been  filled  by  Greening. 

"But  I  mean  seriously,  Bobby.  Has  something 
good  turned  up?" 

Blessington  made  a  wry  face.  "Something  is  on  its 
way — that's  why  I  am  on  duty  to-night.     Old  Bram' 

132 


THE    MASQUERADER 

fell  and  the  pater  are  working  it  between  them.  So  if 
Lady  Bramfell  or  Lady  Astrupp  happen  to  drop  a  fan 
or  a  handkerchief  this  evening,  I've  got  to  be  here  to 
pick  it  up.     See?" 

"As  you  picked  up  my  fans  and  handkerchiefs  last 
year — and  the  year  before?"     Eve  smiled. 

Blessington's  face  suddenly  looked  grave.  "I  wish 
you  hadn't  said  that,"  he  said.  Then  he  paused 
abruptly.  Out  of  the  hum  of  talk  behind  them  a  man's 
laugh  sounded.  It  was  not  loud,  but  it  was  a  laugh 
that  one  seldom  hears  in  a  London  drawing-room — it 
expressed  interest,  amusement,  and  in  an  inexplicable 
way  it  seemed  also  to  express  strength. 

Eve  and  Blessington  both  turned  involuntarily. 

"By  Jove!"  said  Blessington 

Eve  said  nothing. 

Loder  was  parting  with  Lakely,  and  his  was  the 
laugh  that  had  attracted  them  both.  The  interest 
excited  by  his  talk  was  still  reflected  in  his  face  and 
bearing  as  he  made  his  way  towards  them. 

"By  Jove!"  said  Blessington  again.  "I  never 
realized  that  Chilcote  was  so  tall." 

Again  Eve  said  nothing.  But  silently  and  with  a 
more  subtle  meaning  she  found  herself  echoing  the 
words. 

Until  he  was  quite  close  to  her,  Loder  did  not  seem 
to  see  her.     Then  he  stopped  quietly. 

"I  was  speaking  to  Lakely,"  he  said.  "He  wants 
me  to  dine  with  him  one  night  at  Cadogan  Gardens.'" 

But  Eve  was  silent,  waiting  for  him  to  address 
Blessington.  She  glanced  at  him  quickly,  but  though 
their  eyes  met  he  did  not  catch  the  meaning  that  lay 
in  hers.     It  was  a  difficult  moment.     She  had  known 

133 


THE    MASQUERADER 

him  incredibly,  almost  unpardonably,  absent-minded, 
but  it  had  invariably  been  when  he  was  suffering  from 
"nerves,"  as  she  phrased  it  to  herself.  But  to-night  he 
was  obviously  in  the  possession  of  unclouded  faculties. 
She  colored  slightly  and  glanced  under  her  lashes  at 
Blessington.  Had  the  same  idea  struck  him,  she 
wondered?  But  he  was  studiously  studying  a  suit 
of  Chinese  armor  that  stood  close  by  in  a  niche  of  the 
wall. 

"Bobby  has  been  keeping  me  amused  while  you 
talked  to  Mr.  Lakely,"  she  said,  pointedly. 

Directly  addressed,  Loder  turned  and  looked  at 
Blessington.  "How  d'you  do ?"  he  said,  with  doubtful 
cordiality.  The  name  of  Bobby  conveyed  nothing  to 
him. 

To  his  surprise,  Eve  looked  annoyed,  and  Blessing- 
ton's  fresh-colored  face  deepened  in  tone.  With  a  slow, 
uncomfortable  sensation  he  was  aware  of  having 
struck  a  wrong  note. 

There  was  a  short,  unpleasant  pause.  Then,  more 
by  intuition  than  actual  sight,  Blessington  saw  Eve's 
eyes  turn  from  him  to  Loder,  and  with  quick  tact  he 
saved  the  situation. 

"How  d'you  do,  sir?"  he  responded,  with  a  smile. 
"I  congratulate  you  on  looking  so — so  uncommon  well. 
I  was  just  telling  Mrs.  Chilcote  that  I  hold  a  commission 
for  Lady  Astrupp  to-night.  I'm  a  sort  of  scout  at 
present — reporting  on  the  outposts."  He  spoke  fast 
and  without  much  meaning,  but  his  boyish  voice  eased 
the  strain. 

Eve  thanked  him  with  a  smile.  "Then  we  mustn't 
interfere  with  a  person  on  active  service,"  she  said. 
"Besides,  we  have  our  own  duties  to  get  through." 

J34 


THE    MASQUERADER 

She  smiled  again,  and,  touching  Loder's  arm,  indicated 
the  reception-rooms. 

When  they  entered  the  larger  of  the  two  rooms  Lady 
Bramfell  was  still  receiving  her  guests.  She  was  a  tall 
and  angular  woman,  who,  except  for  a  certain  beauty  of 
hands  and  feet  and  a  certain  similarity  of  voice,  pos- 
sessed nothing  in  common  with  her  sister  Lillian. 
She  was  speaking  to  a  group  of  people  as  they  ap- 
proached, and  the  first  sound  of  her  sweet  and  rather 
drawling  tones  touched  Loder  with  a  curious  momen- 
tary feeling — a  vague  suggestion  of  awakened  memo- 
ries. Then  the  suggestion  vanished  as  she  turned  and 
greeted  Eve. 

"How  sweet  of  you  to  come!"  she  murmured.  And 
it  seemed  to  Loder  that  a  more  spontaneous  smile  light- 
ed up  her  face.  Then  she  extended  her  hand  to 
him.  "And  you,  too!"  she  added.  '  Though  I  fear  we 
shall  bore  you  dreadfully." 

Watching  her  with  interest,  he  saw  the  change  of 
expression  as  her  eyes  turned  from  Eve  to  him,  and 
noticed  a  colder  tone  in  her  voice  as  she  addressed  him 
directly.     The  observation  moved  him  to  self-assertion. 

"That's  a  poor  compliment  to  me,"  he  said  "To 
be  bored  is  surely  only  a  polite  way  of  being  inane." 

Lady  Bramfell  smiled.  "What!"  she  exclaimed. 
"You  defending  your  social  reputation?" 

Loder  laughed  a  little.  "The  smaller  it  is,  the  more 
defending  it  needs,"  he  replied. 

Another  stream  of  arrivals  swept  by  them  as  he 
spoke;  Eve  smiled  at  their  hostess  and  moved  across 
the  room,  and  he  perforce  followed.  As  he  gained  her 
side,  the  little  court  about  Lady  Bramfell  was  left  well 
in  the  rear,  the  great  throng  at  the  farther  end  of  the 

135 


THE    MASQUERADER 

room  was  not  yet  reached,  and  for  the  moment  they 
were  practically  alone. 

There  was  a  certain  uneasiness  in  that  moment  of 
companionship.  It  seemed  to  him  that  Eve  wished  to 
speak,  but  hesitated.  Once  or  twice  she  opened  and 
closed  the  fan  that  she  was  carrying,  then  at  last,  as  if 
by  an  effort,  she  turned  and  looked  at  him. 

'Why  were  you  so  cold  to  Bobby  Blessington  ?"  she 
asked.  "Doesn't  it  seem  discourteous  to  ignore  him 
as  you  did?" 

Her  manner  was  subdued.  It  was  not  the  annoyed 
manner  that  one  uses  to  a  man  when  he  has  behaved  ill ; 
it  was  the  explanatory  tone  one  might  adopt  towards 
an  incorrigible  child.  Loder  felt  this;  but  the  gist  of  a 
remark  always  came  to  him  first,  its  mode  of  expres- 
sion later.  The  fact  that  it  was  Blessington  whom  he 
had  encountered — Blessington  to  whom  he  had  spoken 
with  vague  politeness — came  to  him  with  a  sense  of  un- 
pleasantness. He  was  not  to  blame  in  the  matter, 
nevertheless  he  blamed  himself.  He  was  annoyed  that 
he  should  have  made  the  slip  in  Eve's  presence. 

They  were  moving  forward,  nearing  the  press  of 
people  in  the  second  room,  when  Eve  spoke,  and  the 
fact  filled  him  with  an  added  sense  of  annoyance. 
People  smiled  and  bowed  to  her  from  every  side;  one 
woman  leaned  forward  as  they  passed  and  whispered 
something  in  her  ear.  Again  the  sensation  of  futility 
and  vexation  filled  him ;  again  he  realized  how  palpable 
was  the  place  she  held  in  the  world.  Then,  as  his 
feelings  reached  their  height  and  speech  seemed  forced 
upon  him,  a  small  man  with  a  round  face,  catching  a 
glimpse  of  Eve,  darted  from  a  circle  of  people  gathered 
in  one  of  the  windows  and  came  quickly  towards  them. 

136 


THE    MASQUERADER 

With  an  unjust  touch  of  irritation  he  recognized  Lord 
Bramfell. 

Again  the  sense  of  Eve's  aloofness  stung  him  as  their 
host  approached.  In  another  moment  she  would  be 
lost  to  him  among  this  throng  of  strangers — claimed 
by  them  as  by  right. 

"  Eve — "  he  said,  involuntarily  and  under  his  breath. 

She  half  paused  and  turned  towards  him.  "Yes?" 
she  said;  and  he  wondered  if  it  was  his  imagination 
that  made  the  word  sound  slightly  eager. 

"About  that  matter  of  Blessington — "  he  began. 
Then  he  stopped.     Bramfell  had  reached  them. 

The  little  man  came  up  smiling  and  with  an  out- 
stretched hand.  "There's  no  penalty  for  separating 
husband  and  wife,  is  there,  Mrs.  Chilcote?  How  are 
you,  Chilcote  ?"  He  turned  from  one  to  the  other  with 
the  quick,  noiseless  manner  that  always  characterized 
him. 

Loder  turned  aside  to  hide  his  vexation,  but  Eve 
greeted  their  host  with  her  usual  self-possessed  smile. 

"You  are  exempt  from  all  penalties  to-night,"  she 
said.  Then  she  turned  to  greet  the  members  of  his 
party  who  had  strolled  across  from  the  window  in  his 
wake. 

As  she  moved  aside  Bramfell  looked  at  Loder.  "  Well, 
Chilcote,  have  you  dipped  into  the  future  yet?"  he 
asked,  with  a  laugh. 

Loder  echoed  the  laugh  but  said  nothing.  In  his  un- 
certainty at  the  question  he  reverted  to  his  old  re- 
source of  silence. 

Bramfell  raised  his  eyebrows.  "What!"  he  said. 
"Don't  tell  me  that  my  sister-in-law  hasn't  engaged 
you  as  a  victim."     Then  he  turned  in  Eve's  direc- 

137 


THE    MASQUERADER 

tion.      "You've    heard  of   our   new  departure,   Mrs. 
Chilcote?" 

Eve  looked  round  from  the  lively  group  by  which  she 
was  surrounded.  "Lillian's  crystal-gazing?  Why,  of 
course!"  she  said.  "She  should  make  a  very  beautiful 
seer.     We  are  all  quite  curious." 

Bramfell  pursed  up  his  lips.  "She  has  a  very 
beautiful  tent  at  the  end  of  the  conservatory.  It  took 
five  men  as  many  days  to  rig  it  up.  We  co.uldn't  hear 
ourselves  talk,  for  hammering.  My  wife  said  it  made 
her  feel  quite  philanthropic,  it  reminded  her  so  much 
of  a  charity  bazaar." 

Everybody  laughed;  and  at  the  same  moment  Bles- 
sington  came  quickly  across  the  room  and  joined  the 
group. 

"Hallo!"  he  said.  "Anybody  seen  Witcheston? 
He's  next  on  my  list  for  the  crystal  business." 

Again  the  whole  party  laughed,  and  Bramfell, 
stepping  forward,  touched  Blessington's  arm  in  mock 
seriousness. 

"Witcheston  is  playing  bridge,  like  a  sensible  man," 
he  said.     "Leave  him  in  peace,  Bobby." 

Blessington  made  a  comical  grimace.  "But  I'm 
working  this  on  commercial  principles,"  he  said.  "I 
keep  the  list,  names  and  hours  complete,  and  Lady 
Astrupp  gazes,  in  blissful  ignorance  as  to  who  her 
victims  are,  The  whole  thing  is  great — simple  and 
statistical." 

"For  goodness'  sake,  Bobby,  shut  up!"  Bramfell's 
round  eyes  were  twinkling  with  amusement. 

"But  my  system — " 

"Systems!  Ah,  we  all  had  them  when  we  were  as 
young  as  you  are!" 

138 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"And  they  all  had  flaws,  Bobby,"  Eve  broke  in. 
"We  were  always  finding  gaps  that  had  to  be  filled  up. 
Never  mind  about  Lord  Witcheston.  Get  a  substitute ; 
it  won't  count — if  Lillian  doesn't  know." 

Blessington  wavered  as  she  spoke.  His  eyes  wan- 
dered round  the  party  and  again  rested  on  Bramfell. 

"Not  me,  Bobby!  Remember,  I've  breathed  crys- 
tals—  practically  lived  on  them  —  for  the  last  week. 
Now,  there's  Chilcote — "     Again  his  eyes  twinkled. 

All  eyes  were  turned  on  Loder,  though  one  or  two 
strayed  surreptitiously  to  Eve.  She,  seeming  sensitive 
to  the  position,  laughed  quickly. 

"A  very  good  idea!"  she  said.  "Who  wants  to  see 
the  future,  if  not  a  politician?" 

Loder  glanced  from  her  to  Blessington.  Then,  with 
a  very  feminine  impulse,  she  settled  the  matter  beyond 
dispute. 

"Please  use  your  authority,  Bobby,"  she  said. 
"And  when  you've  got  him  safely  under  canvas, 
come  back  to  me.  It's  years  since  we've  had  a  talk." 
She  nodded  and  smiled,  then  instantly  turned  to  Bram- 
fell with  some  trivial  remark. 

For  a  second  Loder  waited,  then  with  a  movement 
of  resignation  he  laid  his  hand  on  Blessington's  arm. 
"Very  well!"  he  said.  "But  if  my  fate  is  black, 
witness  it  was  my.  wife  who  sent  me  to  it."  His  faint 
pause  on  the  word  wife,  the  mention  of  the  word  itself 
in  the  presence  of  these  people,  had  a  savor  of  reckless- 
ness. The  small  discomfiture  of  his  earlier  slip  vanish- 
ed before  it;  he  experienced  a  strong  reaction  of  con- 
fidence in  his  luck.  With  a  cool  head,  a  steady  step, 
and  a  friendly  pressure  of  the  fingers  on  Blessington's 
arm,  he  allowed  himself  to  be  drawn  across  the  recep- 

139 


THE    MASQUERADER 

tion-rooms,  through  the  long  corridors,  and  down  the 
broad  flight  of  steps  that  led  to  the  conservatory. 

The  conservatory  was  a  feature  of  the  Bramfell  town- 
house,  and  to  Loder  it  came  as  something  wonderful 
and  unlooked-for — with  its  clustering  green  branches, 
its  slight,  unoppressive  scents,  its  temperately  pleasant 
atmosphere.  He  felt  no  wish  to  speak  as,  still  guided 
by  Blessington,  he  passed  down  the  shadowy  paths  that 
in  the  half-light  had  the  warmth  and  mystery  of  a 
Southern  garden.  Here  and  there  from  the  darkness 
came  the  whispering  of  a  voice  or  the  sound  of  a 
laugh,  bringing  with  them  the  necessary  touch  of  life. 
Otherwise  the  place  was  still. 

Absorbed  by  the  air  of  solitude,  contrasting  so  re- 
markably with  the  noise  and  crowded  glitter  left  be- 
hind in  the  reception-rooms,  he  had  moved  half-way 
down  the  long,  green  aisle  before  the  business  in  hand 
came  back  to  him  with  a  sudden  sense  of  annoyance. 
It  seemed  so  paltry  to  mar  the  quiet  of  the  place  with 
the  absurdity  of  a  side-show.  He  turned  to  Blessington 
with  a  touch  of  abruptness. 

"What  am  I  expected  to  do?"  he  asked. 

Blessington  looked  up,  surprised.  "Why,  I  thought, 
sir — "  he  began.  Then  he  instantly  altered  his  tone. 
"Oh,  just  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing.  Lady 
Astrupp  won't  put  much  strain  on  your  credulity,  but 
she'll  make  a  big  call  on  your  solemnity."     He  laughed. 

He  had  an  infectious  laugh,  and  Loder  responded 
to  it. 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do  ?"  he  persisted. 

"Oh,  nothing.  Being  the  priestess,  she  naturally 
demands  acolytes;  but  she'll  let  you  know  that  she 
holds  the  prior  place.     The  tent  is  so  fixed  that  she 

140 


THE    MASQUERADER 

sees  nothing  beyond  your  hands;  so  there's  absolutely 
no  delusion."  He  laughed  once  more.  Then  suddenly 
he  lowered  his  voice  and  slackened  his  steps.  "Here 
we  are!"  he  whispered,  in  pretended  awe. 

At  the  end  of  the  path  the  space  widened  to  the  full 
breadth  of  the  conservatory.  The  light  was  dimmer, 
giving  an  added  impression  of  distance;  away  to  the 
left,  Loder  heard  the  sound  of  splashing  water,  and  on 
his  right  hand  he  caught  his  first  glimpse  of  the  tent 
that  was  his  goal. 

It  was  an  artistic  little  structure — a  pavilion  formed 
of  silky  fabric  that  showed  bronze  in  the  light  of  an 
Oriental  lamp  that  hung  above  its  entrance.  As  they 
drew  closer,  a  man  emerged  from  it.  He  stood  for  a 
moment  in  uncertainty,  looking  about  him;  then, 
catching  sight  of  them,  he  came  forward  laughing. 

"By  George!"  he  exclaimed,  "it's  as  dark  as  limbo 
in  there!  I  didn't  see  you  at  first.  But  I  say,  Bles- 
sington,  it's  a  beastly  shame  to  have  that  thunder-cloud 
barrier  shutting  off  the  sorceress.  If  she  gazes  at  the 
crystal,  mayn't  we  have  something  to  gaze  at,  too?" 

Blessington  laughed.  "You  want  too  much,  Gall- 
try,"  he  said.  "Lady  Astrupp  understands  the  value 
of  the  unattainable.  Come  along,  sir!"  he  added  to 
Loder,  drawing  him  forward  with  an  energetic  pressure 
of  the  arm. 

Loder  responded,  and  as  he  did  so  a  flicker  of  curiosity 
touched  his  mind  for  the  first  time.  He  wondered  for 
an  instant  who  this  woman  was  who  aroused  so  much 
comment.  And  with  the  speculation  came  the  re- 
membrance of  how  she  had  assured  Chilcote  that  on 
one  point  at  least  he  was  invulnerable.  He  had 
spoken  then  from  the  height  of  a  past  experience — an 

141 


THE    MASQUERADER 

experience  so  fully  passed  that  he  wondered  now  if  it 
had  been  as  staple  a  guarantee  as  he  had  then  believed. 
Man's  capacity  for  outliving  is  astonishingly  complete. 
The  long-ago  incident  in  the  Italian  mountains  had 
faded,  like  a  crayon  study  in  which  the  tones  have 
merged  and  gradually  lost  character.  The  past  had 
paled  before  the  present — as  golden  hair  might  pale 
before  black.  The  simile  came  with  apparent  ir- 
relevance.    Then  again  Blessington  pressed  his  arm. 

"Now,  sir!"  he  said,  drawing  away  and  lifting  the 
curtain  that  hung  before  the  entrance  of  the  tent. 

Loder  looked  at  the  amused,  boyish  face  lighted  by 
the  hanging  lamp,  and  smiled  pleasantly;  then,  with  a 
shrug  of  the  shoulders,  he  entered  the  pavilion,  and  the 
curtain  fell  behind  him. 


XV 

ON  entering  the  pavilion,  Loder's  first  feeling  was 
one  of  annoyed  awkwardness  at  finding  himself  in 
almost  total  darkness.  But  as  his  eyes  grew  accus- 
tomed to  the  gloom,  the  feeling  vanished  and  the 
absurdity  of  the  position  came  to  his  mind. 

The  tent  was  small,  heavily  draped  with  silk  and 
smelling  of  musk.  It  was  divided  into  two  sections  by 
an  immovable  curtain  that  hung  from  the  roof  to  within 
a  few  feet  of  the  floor.  The  only  furniture  on  Loder's 
side  was  one  low  chair,  and  the  only  light  a  faint 
radiance  that,  coming  from  the  invisible  half  of  the 
pavilion,-  spread  across  the  floor  in  a  pale  band.  For 
a  short  space  he  stood  uncertain,  then  his  hesitation 
was  brought  to  an  end. 

"Please  sit  down,"  said  a  low,  soft  voice. 

For  a  further  moment  he  stood  undecided.  The 
voice  sounded  so  unexpectedly  near.  In  the  quiet  and 
darkness  of  the  place  it  seemed  to  possess  a  dispro- 
portionate weight — almost  the  weight  of  a  familiar 
thing.  Then,  with  a  sudden,  unanalyzed  touch  of 
relief,  he  located  the  impression.  It  was  the  similarity 
to  Lady  Bramfell's  sweet,  slow  tones  that  had  stirred 
his  mind.  With  a  sense  of  satisfaction  he  drew  the 
chair  forward  and  sat  down. 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  he  saw  that  on  the  other  side 
of  the  gauze  partition,  and  below  it  by  a  few  inches,  was 

143 


THE    MASQUERADER 

a  small  table  of  polished  wood,  on  which  stood  an  open 
book,  a  crystal  ball,  and  a  gold  dish  filled  with  ink. 
These  were  arranged  on  the  side  of  the  table  nearest  to 
him,  the  farther  side  being  out  of  his  range  of  vision. 
An  amused  interest  touched  him  as  he  made  his  posi- 
tion more  comfortable.  Whoever  this  woman  was, 
she  had  an  eye  for  stage  management,  she  knew  how 
to  marshal  her  effects.  He  found  himself  waiting  with 
some  curiosity  for  the  next  injunction  from  behind  the 
curtain. 

"The  art  of  crystal-gazing,"  began  the  sweet,  slow 
voice  after  a  pause,  "is  one  of  the  oldest  known  arts." 
Loder  sat  forward.  The  thought  of  Lady  Bramfell 
mingled  disconcertingly  with  some  other  thought  more 
distant  and  less  easy  to  secure. 

"To  obtain  the  best  results,"  went  on  the  seer,  "the 
subject  lays  his  uncovered  hands  outspread  upon  a 
smooth  surface."  It  was  evident  that  the  invisible 
priestess  was  reading  from  the  open  book,  for  when 
the  word  "surface"  was  reached  there  was  a  slight  stir 
that  indicated  the  changing  of  position ;  and  when  the 
voice  came  again  it  was  in  a  different  tone. 

"Please  lay  your  hands,  palms  downward,  upon  the 
table." 

Loder  smiled  to  himself  in  the  darkness.  He  pict- 
ured Chilcote  with  his  nerves  and  his  impatience  going 
through  this  ordeal;  then  in  good-humored  silence  he 
leaned  forward  and  obeyed  the  command.  His  hands 
rested  on  the  smooth  surface  of  the  table  in  the  bar  of 
light  from  the  unseen  lamp. 

There  was  a  second  in  which  the  seer  was  silent; 
then  he  fancied  that  she  raised  her  head. 

"You  must  take  off  your  rings,"  she  said,  smoothly, 

144 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"Any   metal    interferes   with    the    sympathetic    cur- 
rent." 

At  any  other  time  Loder  would  have  laughed ;  but  the 
request  so  casually  and  graciously  made  sent  all 
possibility  of  irony  far  into  the  background.  The 
thought  of  Chilcote  and  of  the  one  flaw  in  their  other- 
wise flawless  scheme  rose  to  his  mind.  Instinctively 
he  half  withdrew  his  hands. 

"Where  is  the  sympathetic  current?"  he  asked, 
quietly.  His  thoughts  were  busy  with  the  question 
of  whether  he  would  or  would  not  be  justified  in  beat- 
ing an  undignified  retreat. 

"Between  you  and  me,  of  course,"  said  the  voice, 
softly.  It  sounded  languid,  but  very  rational.  The 
idea  of  retreat  seemed  suddenly  theatrical.  In  this 
world  of  low  voices  and  shaded  lights  people  never 
adopted  extreme  measures — no  occasion  made  a  scene 
practicable,  or  even  allowable.  He  leaned  back  slowly, 
while  he  summed  up  the  situation.  If  by  any  unlucky 
chance  this  woman  knew  Chilcote  to  have  adopted 
jewelry  and  had  seen  the  designs  of  his  rings,  the  sight 
of  his  own  scarred  finger  would  suggest  question  and 
comment;  if,  on  the  other  hand,  he  left  the  pavilion 
without  excuse,  or  if,  without  apparent  reason,  he  re- 
fused to  remove  the  rings,  he  opened  up  a  new  dif- 
ficulty— a  fresh  road  to  curiosity.  It  came  upon  him 
with  unusual  quickness — the  obstacles  to,  and  the 
need  for,  a  speedy  decision.  He  glanced  round  the 
tent,  then  unconsciously  he  straightened  his  shoulders. 
After  all,  he  had  stepped  into  a  tight  corner,  but  there 
was  no  need  to  cry  out  in  squeezing  his  way  back. 
Then  he  realized  that  the  soft,  ingratiating  tones  were 
sounding  once  more. 

145 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"It's  the  passing  of  my  hands  over  yours,  while  I 
look  into  the  crystal,  that  sets  up  sympathy" — a 
slender  hand  moved  swiftly  into  the  light  and  picked 
up  the  ball — "and  makes  my  eyes  see  the  pictures  in 
your  mind.     Now,  will  you  please  take  off  your  rings  ?" 

The  very  naturalness  of  the  request  disarmed  him. 
It  was  a  risk.  But,  as  Chilcote  had  said,  risk  was  the 
salt  of  life ! 

"I'm  afraid  you  think  me  very  troublesome."  The 
voice  came  again,  delicately  low  and  conciliatory. 

For  a  brief  second  Loder  wondered  uncertainly  how 
long  or  how  well  Chilcote  knew  Lady  Astrupp ;  then  he 
dismissed  the  question.  Chilcote  had  never  mentioned 
her  until  to-night,  and  then  casually  as  Lady  Bram- 
fell's  sister.  What  a  coward  he  was  becoming  in 
throwing  the  dice  with  Fate!  Without  further  delay 
he  drew  off  the  rings,  slipped  them  into  his  pocket,  and 
replaced  his  hands  on  the  smooth  table-top. 

Then,  at  the  moment  that  he  replaced  them,  a 
peculiar  thing  occurred. 

From  the  farther  side  of  the  dark  partition  came  the 
quick,  rustling  stir  of  a  skirt,  and  the  slight  scrape  of  a 
chair  pushed  either  backward  or  forward.  Then  there 
was  silence. 

Now,  silence  can  suggest  anything,  from  profound 
thought  to  imbecility;  but  in  this  case  its  suggestion 
was  nil.  That  something  had  happened,  that  some 
change  had  taken  place,  was  as  patent  to  Loder  as  the 
darkness  of  the  curtain  or  the  band  of  light  that  crossed 
the  floor,  but  what  had  occasioned  it,  or  what  it  stood 
for,  he  made  no  attempt  to  decide.  He  sat  bitingly 
conscious  of  his  hands  spread  open  on  the  table  under 
the   scrutiny   of  eyes   that   were   invisible   to  him  — 

146 


THE    MASQUERADER 

vividly  aware  of  the  awkwardness  of  his  position.  He 
felt  with  instinctive  certainty  that  a  new  chord  had 
been  struck;  but  a  man  seldom  acts  on  instinctive 
certainties.  If  the  exposure  of  his  hands  had  struck 
this  fresh  note,  then  any  added  action  would  but 
heighten  the  dilemma.     He  sat  silent  and  motionless. 

Whether  his  impassivity  had  any  bearing  on  the 
moment  he  had  no  way  of  knowing;  but  no  further 
movement  came  from  behind  the  partition.  What- 
ever the  emotions  that  had  caused  the  sharp  swish  of 
skirts  and  the  sharp  scrape  of  the  chair,  they  had 
evidently  subsided  or  been  dominated  by  other  feel- 
ings. 

The  next  indication  of  life  that  came  to  him  was  the 
laying  down  of  the  crystal  ball.  It  was  laid  back  upon 
the  table  with  a  slight  jerk  that  indicated  a  decision 
come  to;  and  almost  simultaneously  the  seer's  voice 
came  to  him  again.  Her  tone  was  lower  now  than  it 
had  been  before,  and  its  extreme  ease  seemed  slightly 
shaken — whether  by  excitement,  surprise,  or  curiosity, 
it  was  impossible  to  say. 

"You  will  think  it  strange — "  she  began.  "You 
will  think — "     Then  she  stopped. 

There  was  a  pause,  as  though  she  waited  for  some 
help,  but  Loder  remained  mute.  In  difficulty  a  silent 
tongue  and  a  cool  head  are  usually  man's  best  weapons. 

His  silence  was  disconcerting.  He  heard  her  stir 
again. 

"You  will  think  it  strange — "  she  began  once  more. 
Then  quite  suddenly  she  checked  and  controlled  her 
voice.  "You  must  forgive  me  for  what  I  am  going  to 
say,"  she  added,  in  a  completely  different  tone,  "but 
crystal-gazing  is  such  an  illusive  thing.     Directly  you 

147 


THE    MASQUERADER 

put  your  hands  upon  the  table  I  felt  that  there  would 
be  no  result ;  but  I  wouldn't  admit  the  defeat.  Women 
are  such  keen  anglers  that  they  can  never  acknowledge 
that  any  fish,  however  big,  has  slipped  the  hook."  She 
laughed  softly. 

At  the  sound  of  the  laugh  Loder  shifted  his  position 
for  the  first  time.  He  could  not  have  told  why,  but  it 
struck  him  with  a  slight  sense  of  confusion.  A 
precipitate  wish  to  rise  and  pass  through  the  doorway 
into  the  wider  spaces  of  the  conservatory  came  to  him, 
though  he  made  no  attempt  to  act  upon  it.  He  knew 
that,  for  some  inexplicable  reason,  this  woman  behind 
the  screen  had  lied  to  him — in  the  controlling  of  her 
speech,  in  her  change  of  voice.  There  had  been  one 
moment  in  which  an  impulse  or  an  emotion  had  almost 
found  voice;  then  training,  instinct,  or  it  might  have 
been  diplomacy,  had  conquered,  and  the  moment  had 
passed.  There  was  a  riddle  in  the  very  atmosphere  of 
the  place — and  he  abominated  riddles. 

But  Lady  Astrupp  was  absorbed  in  her  own  con- 
cerns. Again  she  changed  her  position;  and  to  Loder, 
listening  attentively,  it  seemed  that  she  leaned  forward 
and  examined  his  hands  afresh.  The  sensation  was  so 
acute  that  he  withdrew  them  involuntarily. 

Again  there  was  a  confused  rustle;  the  crystal  ball 
rolled  from  the  table,  and  the  seer  laughed  quickly. 
Obeying  a  strenuous  impulse,  Loder  rose. 

He  had  no  definite  notion  of  what  he  expected  or 
what  he  must  avoid.  He  was  only  conscious  that  the 
pavilion,  with  its  silk  draperies,  its  scent  of  musk,  and 
its  intolerable  secrecy,  was  no  longer  endurable.  He 
felt  cramped  and  confused  in  mind  and  muscle.  He 
stood  for  a  second  to  straighten  his  limbs;  then  he 

148 


THE    MASQUERADER 

turned,  and,  moving  directly  forward,  passed  through 
the  portiere. 

After  the  dimness  of  the  pavilion  the  conservatory 
seemed  comparatively  bright;  but  without  waiting  to 
grow  accustomed  to  the  altered  light  he  moved  onward 
with  deliberate  haste.  The  long,  green  alley,  was 
speedily  traversed;  in  his  eyes  it  no  longer  possessed 
greenness,  no  longer  suggested  freshness  or  repose.  It 
was  simply  a  means  to  the  end  upon  which  his  mind  was 
set. 

As  he  passed  up  the  flight  of  steps  he  drew  his  rings 
from  his  pocket  and  slipped  them  on  again.  Then  he 
stepped  into  the  glare  of  the  thronged  corridor. 

Some  one  hailed  him  as  he  passed  through  the  crowd, 
but  with  Chilcote's  most  absorbed  manner  he  hurried 
on.  Through  the  door  of  the  supper-room  he  caught 
sight  of  Blessington  and  Eve,  and  then  for  the  first  time 
his  expression  changed,  and  he  turned  directly  towards 
them. 

"Eve,"  he  said,  "will  you  excuse  me?  I  have  a 
word  to  say  to  Blessington." 

She  glanced  at  him  in  momentary  surprise ;  then  she 
smiled  in  her  quiet,  self-possessed  way. 

"Of  course!"  she  said.  "I've  been  wanting  a  chat 
with  Millicent  Gower,  but  Bobby  has  required  so 
much  entertaining — "  She  smiled  again,  this  time 
at  Blessington,  and  moved  away  towards  a  pale  girl 
in  green  who  was  standing  alone. 

Instantly  she  had  turned  Loder  took  Blessington 's 
arm. 

"I  know  you're  tremendously  busy,"  he  began,  in 
an  excellent  imitation  of  Chilcote's  hasty  manner — "I 
know  you're  tremendously  busy,  but  I'm  in  a  fix." 

149 


THE    MASQUERADER 

One  glance   at   Blessington's  healthy,  ingenuous  face 
told  him  that  plain  speaking  was  the  method  to  adopt. 
"Indeed,  sir?"     In  a  moment  Blessington  was  on 
the  alert. 

"Yes.     And  I — I  want  your  help." 

The  boy  reddened.  That  Chilcote  should  appeal 
to  him  stirred  him  to  an  uneasy  feeling  of  pride  and 
uncertainty. 

Loder  saw  his  advantage  and  pressed  it  home.  ' '  It's 
come  about  through  this  crystal-gazing  business.  I'm 
afraid  I  didn't  play  my  part — rather  made  an  ass  of 
myself;  I  wouldn't  swallow  the  thing,  and — and  Lady 
Astrupp — "  He  paused,  measuring  Blessington  with 
a  glance.  'Well,  my  dear  boy,  you — you  know  what 
women  are!" 

Blessington  was  only  twenty-three.  He  reddened 
again,  and  assumed  an  air  of  profundity.  "I  know, 
sir,"  he  said,  with  a  shake  of  the  head. 

Loder 's  sense  of  humor  was  keen,  but  he  kept  a 
grave  face.  "I  knew  you'd  catch  my  meaning;  but  I 
want  you  to  do  something  more.  If  Lady  Astrupp 
should  ask  you  who  was  in  her  tent  this  past  ten 
minutes,  I  want  you — "  Again  he  stopped,  looking 
at  his  companion's  face. 

"Yes,  sir?" 

"I  want  you  to  tell  an  immaterial  lie  for  me." 

Blessington  returned  his  glance;  then  he  laughed  a 
little  uncomfortably.     "But  surely,  sir — " 

"She  recognized  me,  you  mean?"  Loder's  eyes 
were  as  keen  as  steel. 

"Yes." 

"Then  you're  wrong.     She  didn't." 

Blessington's  eyebrows  went  up. 

15° 


THE    MASQUERADER 

There  was  silence.  Loder  glanced  across  the  room. 
Eve  had  parted  from  the  girl  in  green  and  was  moving 
towards  them,  exchanging  smiles  and  greetings  as  she 
came. 

"My  wife  is  coming  back,"  he  said.  "Will  you  do 
this  for  me,  Blessington  ?  It — it  will  smooth  things — " 
He  spoke  quickly,  continuing  to  watch  Eve.  As  he  had 
hoped,  Blessington's  eyes  turned  in  the  same  direction. 
"•'Twill  smooth  matters,"  he  repeated,  "smooth  them 
in — in  a  domestic  way  that  I  can't  explain." 

The  shot  told.     Blessington  looked  round. 

"Right,  sir!"  he  said.  "You  may  leave  it  to  me." 
And  before  Loder  could  speak  again  he  had  turned 
and  disappeared  into  the  crowd. 


XVI 

HIS  business  with  Blessington  over,  Loder  breathed 
more  freely.  If  Lady  Astrupp  had  recognized 
Chilcote  by  the  rings,  and  had  been  roused  to  curiosity, 
the  incident  would  demand  settlement  sooner  or  later 
— settlement  in  what  proportion  he  could  hazard  no 
guess;  if,  on  the  other  hand,  her  obvious  change  of 
manner  had  arisen  from  any  other  source — he  had  a 
hazy  idea  that  a  woman's  behavior  could  never  be 
gauged  by  accepted  theories — then  he  had  safeguarded 
Chilcote's  interests  and  his  own  by  his  securing  of 
Blessington's  promise.  Blessington  he  knew  would 
be  reliable  and  discreet.  With  a  renewal  of  con- 
fidence— a  pleasant  feeling  that  his  uneasiness  had 
been  groundless — he  moved  forward  to  greet  Eve. 

Her  face,  with  its  rich,  clear  coloring,  seemed  to 
his  gaze  to  stand  out  from  the  crowd  of  other  faces 
as  from  a  frame,  and  a  sense  of  pride  touched  him. 
In  every  eye  but  his  own  her  beauty  belonged  to 
him. 

His  face  looked  alive  and  masterful  as  she  reached 
his  side.  "May  I  monopolize  you?"  he  said,  with  the 
quickness  of  speech  borrowed  from  Chilcote.  "We — 
we  see  so  little  of  each  other." 

Almost  as  if  compelled,  her  lashes  lifted  and  her 
eyes  met  his.  Her  glance  was  puzzled,  uncertain, 
slightly   confused.     There   was   a   deeper   color   than 

152 


THE    MASQUERADER 

usual  in  her  cheeks.  Loder  felt  something  within  his 
own  consciousness  stir  in  response. 

"You  know  you  are  yielding,"  he  said. 

Again  she  blushed. 

He  saw  the  blush,  and  knew  that  it  was  he — his 
words,  his  personality — that  had  called  it  forth.  In 
Chilcote's  actual  semblance  he  had  proved  his 
superiority  over  Chilcote.  For  the  first  time  he  had 
been  given  a  tacit,  personal  acknowledgment  of  his 
power.     Involuntarily  he  drew  nearer  to  her. 

"Let's  get  out  of  this  crush." 

She  made  no  answer  except  to  bend  her  head;  and 
it  came  to  him  that,  for  all  her  pride,  she  liked — and 
unconsciously  yielded  to — domination.  With  a  satis- 
fied gesture  he  turned  to  make  a  passage  towards  the 
door. 

But  the  passage  was  more  easily  desired  than  made. 
In  the  few  moments  since  he  had  entered  the  supper- 
room  the  press  of  people  had  considerably  thickened — 
until  a  block  had  formed  about  the  door-way.  Drawing 
Eve  with  him,  he  moved  forward  for  a  dozen  paces, 
then  paused,  unable  to  make  further  headway. 

As  they  stood  there,  he  looked  back  at  her.  "  What 
a  study  in  democracy  a  crowd  always  is!"  he  said. 

She  responded  with  a  bright,  appreciative  glance,  as 
if  surprised  into  naturalness.  He  wondered  sharply 
what  she  would  be  like  if  her  enthusiasms  were  really 
aroused.  Then  a  stir  in  the  corridor  outside  caused  a 
movement  inside  the  room;  and  with  a  certain  display 
of  persistence  he  was  enabled  to  make  a  passage  to  the 
door. 

There  again  they  were  compelled  to  halt.  But 
though   tightly    wedged    into    his   new   position    and 

i53 


THE    MASQUERADER 

guarding  Eve  with  one  arm,  Loder  was  free  to  survey 
the  brilliantly  thronged  corridor  over  the  head  of  a 
man  a  few  inches  shorter  than  himself,  who  stood 
directly  in  front  of  him. 

"What  are  we  waiting  for?"  he  asked,  good  humor- 
edly,  addressing  the  back  of  the  stranger's  head. 

The  man  turned,  displaying  a  genial  face,  a  red 
mustache,  and  an  eye-glass. 

"Hullo,  Chilcote!"  he  said.  "Hope  it's  not  on  your 
feet  I'm  standing." 

Loder  laughed.  "No,"  he  said.  "And  don't  change 
the  position.  If  you  were  an  inch  higher  I  should  be 
blind  as  well  as  crippled." 

The  other  laughed.  It  was  a  pleasant  surprise  to 
find  Chilcote  amiable  under  discomfort.  He  looked 
round  again  in  slight  curiosity. 

Loder  felt  the  scrutiny.  To  create  a  diversion  he 
looked  out  along  the  corridor.  "I  believe  we  are 
waiting  for  something,"  he  exclaimed.  "What's  this?" 
Then  quite  abruptly  he  ceased  to  speak. 

"Anything  interesting?"  Eve  touched  his  arm. 

He  said  nothing;  he  made  no  effort  to  look  round. 
His  thought  as  well  as  his  speech  was  suddenly  sus- 
pended. 

The  man  in  front  of  him  let  his  eye-glass  fall  from 
his  eye,  then  screwed  it  in  again. 

"Jove!"  he  exclaimed.  "Here  comes  our  sorceress. 
It's  like  the  progress  of  a  fairy  princess.  I  believe  this 
is  the  meaning  of  our  getting  penned  in  here."  He 
chuckled  delightedly. 

Loder  said  nothing.  He  stared  straight  on  over 
the  other's  head. 

Along  the  corridor,  agreeably  conscious  of  the  hum 

x54 


THE    MASQUERADER 

of  admiration  she  aroused,  came  Lillian  Astrupp, 
surrounded  by  a  little  court.  Her  delicate  face  was 
lit  up ;  her  eyes  shone  under  the  faint  gleam  of  her  hair; 
her  gown  of  gold  embroidery  swept  round  her  grace- 
fully. She  was  radiant  and  triumphant,  but  she  was 
also  excited.  The  excitement  was  evident  in  her 
laugh,  in  her  gestures,  in  her  eyes,  as  they  turned  quick- 
ly in  one  direction  and  then  another. 

Loder,  gazing  in  stupefaction  over  the  other  man's 
head,  saw  it — felt  and  understood  it  with  a  mind  that 
leaped  back  over  a  space  of  years.  As  in  a  shifting 
panorama  he  saw  a  night  of  disturbance  and  confusion 
in  a  far-off  Italian  valley — a  confusion  from  which  one 
face  shone  out  with  something  of  the  pale,  alluring 
radiance  that  filtered  over  the  hillside  from  the  crescent 
moon.  It  passed  across  his  consciousness  slowly  but 
with  a  slow  completeness ;  and  in  its  light  the  incidents 
of  the  past  hour  stood  out  in  a  new  aspect.  The  echo 
of  recollection  stirred  by  Lady  Bramfell's  voice,  the 
re-echo  of  it  in  the  sister's  tones;  his  own  blindness,  his 
own  egregious  assurance — all  struck  across  his  mind. 

Meanwhile  the  party  about  Lillian  drew  nearer.  He 
felt  with  instinctive  certainty  that  the  supper-room 
was  its  destination,  but  he  remained  motionless,  held 
by  a  species  of  fatalism.  He  watched  her  draw  near 
with  an  unmoved  face,  but  in  the  brief  space  that 
passed  while  she  traversed  the  corridor  he  gauged  to  the 
full  the  hold  that  the  new  atmosphere,  the  new  exist- 
ence, had  gained  over  his  mind.  With  an  unlooked- 
for  rush  of  feeling  he  realized  how  dearly  he  would  part 
with  it. 

As  Lillian  came  closer,  the  meaning  of  her  manner 
became  clearer  to  him.     She  talked  incessantly,  laugh- 

155 


THE    MASQUERADER 

ing  now  and  then,  but  her  eyes  were  never  quiet. 
These  skimmed  the  length  of  the  corridor,  then  glanced 
over  the  heads  crowded  in  the  door-way. 

"I'll  have  something  quite  sweet,  Geoffrey,"  she  was 
saying  to  the  man  beside  her,  as  she  came  within  hear- 
ing. "You  know  what  I  like — a  sort  of  snowflake 
wrapped  up  in  sugar."  As  she  said  the  words  her 
glance  wandered.  Loder  saw  it  rest  uninterestedly 
on  a  boy  a  yard  or  two  in  front  of  him,  then  move 
to  the  man  over  whose  head  he  gazed,  then  lift  itself 
inevitably  to  his  face. 

The  glance  was  quick  and  direct.  He  saw  the  look 
of  recognition  spring  across  it ;  he  saw  her  move  forward 
suddenly  as  the  crowd  in  the  corridor  parted  to  let  her 
pass.     Then  he  saw  what  seemed  to  him  a  miracle. 

Her  whole  expression  altered,  her  lips  parted,  and  she 
colored  with  annoyance.  She  looked  like  a  spoiled  child 
who,  seeing  a  bonbon-box,  opens  it — to  find  it  empty. 

As  the  press  about  the  door- way  melted  to  give  her 
passage,  the  red-haired  man  in  front  of  Loder  was  the 
first  to  take  advantage  of  the  space.  "Jove!  Lillian," 
he  said,  moving  forward,  "you  look  as  if  you  expected 
Chilcote  to  be  somebody  else,  and  are  disappointed  to 
find  he's  only  himself!"  He  laughed  delightedly  at  his 
own  joke. 

The  words  were  exactly  the  tonic  that  Lillian  needed. 
She  smiled  her  usual  undisturbed  smile  as  she  turned 
her  eyes  upon  him. 

"My  dear  Leonard,  you're  using  your  eye-glass; 
when  that  happens  you're  never  responsible  for  what 
you  see."  Her  words  came  more  slowly  and  with  a 
touch  of  languid  amusement.  Her  composure  was 
suddenly  restored. 

iS6 


"AS    LILLIAN    CAME    CLOSER,    THE    MEANING    OF    HER    MANNER 
BECAME    CLEARER    TO    HIM " 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Then  for  the  first  time  Loder  changed  his  position. 
Moved  by  an  impulse  he  made  no  effort  to  dissect,  he 
stepped  back  to  Eve's  side  and  slipped  his  arm  through 
hers — successfully  concealing  his  left  hand. 

The  warmth  of  her  skin  through  her  long  glove 
thrilled  him  unexpectedly.  His  impulse  had  been  one 
of  self-defence,  but  the  result  was  of  a  different  charac- 
ter. At  the  quick  contact  the  wish  to  fight  for — to 
hold  and  defend — the  position  that  had  grown  so  dear 
woke  in  renewed  force.  With  a  new  determination  he 
turned  again  towards  Lillian. 

"I  caught  the  same  impression — without  an  eye- 
glass," he  said.  "Why  did  you  look  like  that?"  He 
asked  the  question  steadily  and  with  apparent  care- 
lessness, though,  through  it  all,  his  reason  stood 
aghast — his  common-sense  cried  aloud  that  it  was  im- 
possible for  the  eyes  that  had  seen  his  face  in  ad- 
miration, in  love,  in  contempt,  to  fail  now  in  recogni- 
tion. The  air  seemed  breathless  while  he  spoke  and 
waited.  His  impression  of  Lillian  was  a  mere  shimmer- 
ing of  gold  dress  and  gold  hair;  all  that  he  was  really 
conscious  of  was  the  pressure  of  his  hand  on  Eve's 
arm  and  the  warmth  of  her  skin  through  the  soft  glove. 
Then,  abruptly,  the  mist  lifted.  He  saw  Lillian's  eyes 
— indifferent,  amused,  slightly  contemptuous;  and  a 
second  later  he  heard  her  voice. 

"My  dear  Jack,"  she  said,  sweetly,  "how  absurd  of 
you!  It  was  simply  the  contrast  of  your  eyes  peering 
over  Leonard's  hair  It  was  like  a  gorgeous  sunset  with 
a  black  cloud  overhead."  She  laughed.  "Do  you  see 
what  I  mean,  Eve?"  She  affected  to  see  Eve  for  the 
first  time. 

Eve  had  been  looking  calmly  ahead.     She  turned 

157 


THE    MASQUERADER 

now  and  smiled  serenely.  Loder  felt  no  vibration  of 
the  arm  he  held,  yet  by  an  instant  intuition  he  knew 
that  the  two  women  were  antagonistic.  He  ex- 
perienced it  with  the  divination  that  follows  upon  a 
moment  of  acute  suspense.  He  understood  it,  as  he 
had  understood  Lillian's  look  of  recognition  when  his 
forehead,  eyes,  and  nose  had  shown  him  to  be  himself; 
her  blank  surprise  when  his  close-shaven  lip  and  chin 
had  proclaimed  him  Chilcote. 

He  felt  like  a  man  who  has  looked  into  an  abyss  and 
stepped  back  from  the  edge,  outwardly  calm  but 
mentally  shaken.  The  commonplaces  of  life  seemed 
for  the  moment  to  hold  deeper  meanings.  He  did  not 
hear  Eve's  answer,  he  paid  no  heed  to  Lillian's  next 
remark.  He  saw  her  smile  and  turn  to  the  red-haired 
man;  finally  he  saw  her  move  on  into  the  supper-room, 
followed  by  her  little  court.  Then  he  pressed  the  arm 
he  was  still  holding.  He  felt  an  urgent  need  of  com- 
panionship— of  a  human  expression  to  the  crisis  he  had 
passed. 

"Shall  we  get  out  of  this?"  he  asked  again. 

Eve  looked  up.     "Out  of  the  room?"  she  said. 

He  looked  down  at  her,  compelling  her  gaze.  "Out 
of  the  room — and  the  house,"  he  answered.  "Let  us 
go — home." 


XVII 

THE  necessary  formalities  of  departure  were  speed- 
ily got  through.  The  passing  of  the  corridors,  the 
gaining  of  the  carriage,  seemed  to  Loder  to  be  marvel- 
lously simple  proceedings.  Then,  as  he  sat  by  Eve's 
side  and  again  felt  the  forward  movement  of  the  horses, 
he  had  leisure  for  the  first  time  to  wonder  whether  the 
time  that  had  passed  since  last  he  occupied  that  posi- 
tion had  actually  been  lived  through. 

Only  that  night  he  had  unconsciously  compared  one 
incident  in  his  life  to  a  sketch  in  which  the  lights  and 
shadows  have  been  obliterated  and  lost.  Now  that  pict- 
ure rose  before  him,  startlingly  and  incredibly  intact. 
He  saw  the  sunlit  houses  of  Santasalare,  backgrounded 
by  the  sunlit  hills — saw  them  as  plainly  as  when  he  him- 
self had  sketched  them  on  his  memory.  Every  detail  of 
the  scene  remained  the  same,  even  to  the  central  figure; 
only  the  eye  and  the  hand  of  the  artist  had  changed. 

At  this  point  Eve  broke  in  upon  his  thoughts.  Her 
first  words  were  curiously  coincidental. 

"What  did  you  think  of  Lillian  Astrupp  to-night?" 
she  asked.     "Wasn't  her  gown  perfect?" 

Loder  lifted  his  head  with  an  almost  guilty  start. 
Then  he  answered  straight  from  his  thoughts. 

"I — I  didn't  notice  it,"  he  said;  "but  her  eyes  re- 
minded me  of  a  cat's  eyes — and  she  walks  like  a  cat. 
I  never  seemed  to  see  it — until  to-night." 

159 


THE   MASQUERADER 

Eve  changed  her  position.  "  She  was  very  artistic," 
she  said,  tentatively.  "Don't  you  think  the  gold 
gown  was  beautiful  with  her  pale-colored  hair?" 

Loder  felt  surprised.  He  was  convinced  that  Eve 
disliked  the  other  and  he  was  not  sufficiently  versed  in 
women  to  understand  her  praise.  "I  thought — "  he 
began.  Then  he  wisely  stopped.  "I  didn't  see  the 
gown,"  he  substituted. 

Eve  looked  out  of  the  window.  "How  unapprecia- 
tive  men  are!"  she  said.  But  her  tone  was  strangely 
free  from  censure. 

After  this  there  was  silence  until  Grosvenor  Square 
was  reached.  Having  left  the  carriage  and  passed 
into  the  house,  Eve  paused  for  a  moment  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs  to  give  an  order  to  Crapham,  who  was  still 
in  attendance  in  the  hall;  and  again  Loder  had  an 
opportunity  of  studying  her.  As  he  looked,  a  sharp 
comparison  rose  to  his  mind. 

"A  fairy  princess!"  he  had  heard  the  red-haired 
man  say  as  Lillian  Astrupp  came  into  view  along  the 
Bramfells'  corridor,  and  the  simile  had  seemed  par- 
ticularly apt.  With  her  grace,  her  delicacy,  her  subtle 
attraction,  she  might  well  be  the  outcome  of  imagina- 
tion. But  with  Eve  it  was  different.  She  also  was 
graceful  and  attractive — but  it  was  grace  and  attraction 
of  a  different  order.  One  was  beautiful  with  the  beauty 
of  the  white  rose  that  springs  from  the  hot-house  and 
withers  at  the  first  touch  of  cold;  the  other  with  the 
beauty  of  the  wild  rose  on  the  cliffs  above  the  sea,  that 
keeps  its  petals  fine  and  transparent  in  face  of  salt 
spray  and  wet  mist.  Eve,  too,  had  her  realm,  but  it 
was  the  realm  of  real  things.  A  great  confidence,  a 
feeling  that  here  one  might  rely  even  if  all  other  faiths 

160 


THE    MASQUERADER 

were  shaken,  touched  him  suddenly.  For  a  moment 
he  stood  irresolute,  watching  her  mount  the  stairs  with 
her  easy,  assured  step.  Then  a  determination  came  to 
him.  Fate  favored  him  to-night;  he  was  in  luck  to- 
night. He  would  put  his  fortune  to  one  more  test. 
He  swung  across  the  hall  and  ran  up  the  stairs. 

His  face  was  keen  with  interest  as  he  reached  her 
side.  The  hard  outline  of  his  features  and  the  hard 
grayness  of  his  eyes  were  softened  as  when  he  had 
paused  to  talk  with  Lakely.  Action  was  the  breath 
of  his  life,  and  his  face  changed  under  it  as  another's 
might  change  under  the  influence  of  stirring  music  or 
good  wine. 

Eve  saw  the  look  and  again  the  uneasy  expression 
of  surprise  crossed  her  eyes.  She  paused,  her  hand 
resting  on  the  banister. 

Loder  looked  at  her  directly.  "Will  you  come  into 
the  study — as  you  came  that  other  night  ?  There's 
something  I  want  to  say."  He  spoke  quietly.  He 
felt  master  of  himself  and  of  her. 

She  hesitated,  glanced  at  him,  and  then  glanced 
away. 

'Will  you  come?"  he  said  again.  And  as  he  said  it 
his  eyes  rested  on  the  sweep  of  her  thick  eyelashes,  the 
curve  of  the  black  hair. 

At  last  her  lashes  lifted,  and  the  perplexity  and 
doubt  in  her  blue  eyes  stirred  him.  Without  waiting 
for  her  answer,  he  leaned  forward. 

"Say  yes!"  he  urged.     "I  don't  often  ask  for  favors." 

Still  she  hesitated;  then  her  decision  was  made  for 
her.  With  a  new  boldness  he  touched  her  arm,  draw- 
ing her  forward  gently  but  decisively  towards  Chilcote's 
rooms. 

161 


THE    MASQUERADER 

In  the  study  a  fire  burned  brightly,  the  desk  was 
laden  with  papers,  the  lights  were  nicely  adjusted; 
even  the  chairs  were  in  their  accustomed  places. 
Loder's  senses  responded  to  each  suggestion.  It 
seemed  but  a  day  since  he  had  seen  it  last.  It  was 
precisely  as  he  had  left  it — the  niche  needing  but  the 
man. 

To  hide  his  emotion  he  crossed  the  floor  quickly  and 
drew  a  chair  forward.  In  less  than  six  hours  he  had 
run  up  and  down  the  scale  of  emotions.  He  had 
looked  despair  in  the  face,  till  the  sudden  sight  of 
Chilcote  had  lifted  him  to  the  skies;  since  then,  surprise 
had  assailed  him  in  its  strongest  form;  he  had  known 
the  full  meaning  of  the  word  "risk";  and  from  every 
contingency  he  had  come  out  conqueror.  He  bent 
over  the  chair  as  he  pulled  it  forward,  to  hide  the  ex- 
pression in  his  eyes. 

"Sit  down,"  he  said,  gently. 

Eve  moved  towards  him.  She  moved  slowly,  as 
if  half  afraid.  Many  emotions  stirred  her — distrust, 
uncertainty,  and  a  curious  half-dominant,  half-sup- 
pressed questioning  that  it  was  difficult  to  define. 
Loder  remembered  her  shrinking  coldness,  her  reluc- 
tant tolerance  on  the  night  of  his  first  coming,  and  his 
individuality,  his  certainty  of  power,  kindled  afresh. 
Never  had  he  been  so  vehemently  himself;  never 
had  Chilcote  seemed  so  complete  a  shadow. 

As  Eve  seated  herself,  he  moved  forward  and  leaned 
over  the  back  of  her  chair.  The  impulse  that  had 
filled  him  in  his  interview  with  Renwick,  that  had 
goaded  him  as  he  drove  to  the  reception,  was  dominant 
again. 

"I  tried  to  say  something  as  we  drove  to  the  Bram- 

162 


THE    MASQUERADER 

fells'  to-night,"  he  began.  Like  many  men  who 
possess  eloquence  for  an  impersonal  cause,  he  was 
brusque,  even  blunt,  in  the  stating  of  his  own  case. 
"May  I  hark  back,  and  go  on  from  where  I  broke 
off?" 

Eve  half  turned.  Her  face  was  still  puzzled  and 
questioning.  "Of  course."  She  sat  forward  again, 
clasping  her  hands. 

He  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  back  of  her  head,  at 
the  slim  outline  of  her  shoulders,  the  glitter  of  the 
diamonds  about  her  neck. 

"Do  you  remember  the  day,  three  weeks  ago,  that 
we  talked  together  in  this  room  ?  The  day  a  great 
many  things  seemed  possible?" 

This  time  she  did  not  look  round.  She  kept  her  gaze 
upon  the  fire. 

"Do  you  remember?"  he  persisted,  quietly.  In  his 
college  days  men  who  heard  that  tone  of  quiet  per- 
sistence had  been  wont  to  lose  heart.  Eve  heard  it 
now  for  the  first  time,  and,  without  being  aware, 
answered  to  it. 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  she  said. 

"  On  that  day  you  believed  in  me — "  In  his  earnest- 
ness he  no  longer  simulated  Chilcote ;  he  spoke  with  his 
own  steady  reliance.  He  saw  Eve  stir,  unclasp  and 
clasp  her  hands,  but  he  went  steadily  on.  "On  that 
day  you  saw  me  in  a  new  light.  You  acknowledged 
me."  He  emphasized  the  slightly  peculiar  word.  "  But 
since  that  day" — his  voice  quickened — "since  that 
day  your  feelings  have  changed — your  faith  in  me  has 
fallen  away."  He  watched  her  closely;  but  she  made 
no  sign,  save  to  lean  still  nearer  to  the  fire.  He  crossed 
his  arms  over  the  back  of  her  chair.     "You  were 

163 


THE    MASQUERADER 

justified,"  he  said,  suddenly.  "I've  not  been — myself 
since  that  day."  As  he  said  the  words  his  coolness 
forsook  him  slightly.  He  loathed  the  necessary  lie,  yet 
his  egotism  clamored  for  vindication.  "All  men  have 
their  lapses,"  he  went  on;  "there  are  times — there  are 
days  and  weeks  when  I  —  when  my — "  The  word 
"nerves"  touched  his  tongue,  hung  upon  it,  then  died 
away  unspoken. 

Very  quietly,  almost  without  a  sound,  Eve  had 
risen  and  turned  towards  him.  She  was  standing 
very  straight,  her  face  a  little  pale,  the  hand  that 
rested  on  the  arm  of  her  chair  trembling  slightly. 

"John,"  she  said,  quickly,  "don't  say  that  word! 
Don't  say  that  hideous  word  'nerves'!  I  don't  feel 
that  I  can  bear  it  to-night — not  just  to-night.  Can 
you  understand?" 

Loder  stepped  back.  Without  comprehending,  he 
felt  suddenly  and  strangely  at  a  loss.  Something 
in  her  face  struck  him  silent  and  perplexed.  It  seemed 
that  without  preparation  he  had  stepped  upon  dan- 
gerous ground.  With  an  undefined  apprehension  he 
waited,  looking  at  her. 

"I  can't  explain  it,"  she  went  on  with  nervous 
haste,  "I  can't  give  any  reasons,  but  quite  suddenly 
the — the  farce  has  grown  unbearable.  I  used  not  to 
think — used  not  even  to  care — but  suddenly  things 
have  changed — or  I  have  changed."  She  paused, 
confused  and  distressed.  "Why  should  it  be?  Why 
should  things  change  ?"  She  asked  the  question  sharp- 
ly, as  if  in  appeal  against  her  own  incredulity. 

Loder  turned  aside.  He  was  afraid  of  the  triumph, 
volcanic  and  irrepressible,  that  her  admission  roused. 

"Why?"  she  said  again. 

164 


THE    MASQUERADER 

He  turned  slowly  back.  "  You  forget  that  I'm  not  a 
magician,"  he  said,  gently.  "  I  hardly  know  what  you 
are  speaking  of." 

For  a  moment  she  was  silent,  but  in  that  moment 
her  eyes  spoke.  Pain,  distress,  pride,  all  strove  for 
expression ;  then  at  last  her  lips  parted. 

"Do  you  say  that  in  seriousness?"  she  asked. 

It  was  no  moment  for  fencing,  and  Loder  knew  it. 
"In  seriousness,"  he  replied,  shortly. 

"Then  I  shall  speak  seriously,  too."  Her  voice 
shook  slightly  and  the  color  came  back  into  her  face, 
but  the  hand  on  the  arm  of  the  chair  ceased  to 
tremble.  "For  more  than  four  years  I  have  known 
that  you  take  drugs  —  for  more  than  four  years  I 
have  acquiesced  in  your  deceptions  —  in  your  mean- 
nesses— " 

There  was  an  instant's  silence.  Then  Loder  stepped 
forward. 

"You  knew — for  four  years?"  he  said,  very  slowly. 
For  the  first  time  that  night  he  remembered  Chilcote 
and  forgot  himself. 

Eve  lifted  her  head  with  a  quick  gesture — as  if,  in 
flinging  off  discretion  and  silence,  she  appreciated  to 
the  full  the  new  relief  of  speech. 

"Yes,  I  knew.  Perhaps  I  should  have  spoken  when 
I  first  surprised  the  secret,  but  it's  all  so  past  that  it's 
useless  to  speculate  now.  It  was  fate,  I  suppose.  I 
was  very  young,  you  were  very  unapproachable,  and — 
and  we  had  no  love  to  make  the  way  easy."  For  a 
second  her  glance  faltered  and  she  looked  away.  "A 
woman's— a  girl's — disillusioning  is  a  very  sad  comedy 
— it  should  never  have  an  audience."  She  laughed  a 
little  bitterly  as  she  looked  back  again.     "I  saw  all 

165 


THE    MASQUERADER 

the  deceits,  all  the  subterfuges,  all  the  —  lies."     She 
said  the  word  deliberately,  meeting  his  eyes. 

Again  he  thought  of  Chilcote,  but  his  face  paled. 

"  I  saw  it  all.  I  lived  with  it  all  till  I  grew  hard  and 
indifferent  —  till  I  acquiesced  in  your  'nerves'  as 
readily  as  the  rest  of  the  world  that  hadn't  suspected 
and  didn't  know."  Again  she  laughed  nervously. 
"And  I  thought  the  indifference  would  last  forever. 
If  one  lives  in  a  groove  for  years,  one  gets  frozen  up; 
I  never  felt  more  frozen  than  on  the  night  Mr.  Fraide 
spoke  to  me  of  you — asked  me  to  use  my  influence; 
then,  on  that  night — " 

"Yes.     On  that  night?"     Loder's  voice  was  tense. 

But  her  excitement  had  suddenly  fallen.  Whether 
his  glance  had  quelled  it  or  whether  the  force  of  her 
feelings  had  worked  itself  out  it  was  impossible  to  say, 
but  her  eyes  had  lost  their  resolution.  She  stood 
hesitating  for  a  moment,  then  she  turned  and  moved 
to  the  mantel-piece. 

"That  night  you  found  me  changed?"  Loder  was 
insistent. 

"Changed — and  yet  not  changed."  She  spoke  re- 
luctantly, with  averted  head. 

"And  what  did  you  think?" 

Again  she  was  silent;  then  again  a  faint  excitement 
tinged  her  cheeks. 

"I  thought — "  she  began.  "It  seemed — "  Once 
more  she  paused,  hampered  by  her  own  uncertainty, 
her  own  sense  of  puzzling  incongruity.  "  I  don't  know 
why  I  speak  like  this,"  she  went  on  at  last,  as  if  in 
justification  of  herself,  "or  why  I  want  to  speak.  But 
a  feeling — an  extraordinary,  incomprehensible  feeling 
seems  to  urge  me  on.  The  same  feeling  that  came  to  me 

i-66 


THE    MASQUERADER 

on  the  day  we  had  tea  together — the  feeling  that  made 
me — that  almost  made  me  believe — " 

"Believe  what?"  The  words  escaped  him  without 
volition. 

At  sound,  of  his  voice  she  turned.  "Believe  that  a 
miracle  had  happened,"  she  said — "that  you  had  found 
strength — had  freed  yourself." 

"From  morphia?" 

"From  morphia." 

In  the  silence  that  followed,  Loder  lived  through  a 
century  of  suggestion  and  indecision.  His  first  feeling 
was  for  himself,  but  his  first  clear  thought  was  for 
Chilcote  and  their  compact.  He  stood,  metaphorically, 
on  a  stone  in  the  middle  of  a  stream,  balancing  on  one 
foot,  then  the  other;  looking  to  the  right  bank,  then 
to  the  left.  At  last,  as  it  always  did,  inspiration  came 
to  him  slowly.  He  realized  that  by  one  plunge  he 
might  save  both  Chilcote  and  himself! 

He  crossed  quickly  to  the  fireplace  and  stood  by 
Eve.  '  You  were  right  in  your  belief,"  he  said.  "  For 
all  that  time — from  the  night  you  spoke  to  me  of 
Fraide  to  the  day  you  had  tea  in  this  room — I  never 
touched  a  drug." 

She  moved  suddenly,  and  he  saw  her  face.  "John," 
she  said,  unsteadily,  "you — I — I  have  known  you  to 
lie  to  me — about  other  things." 

With  a  hasty  movement  he  averted  his  head.  The 
doubt,  the  appeal  in  her  words  shocked  him.  The 
whole  isolation  of  her  life  seemed  summed  up  in  the  one 
short  sentence.  For  the  instant  he  forgot  Chilcote. 
With  a  reaction  of  feeling  he  turned  to  her  again. 

"Look  at  me!"  he  said,  brusquely. 

She  raised  her  eyes. 

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THE    MASQUERADER 

"Do  you  believe  I'm  speaking  the  truth?" 

She  searched  his  eyes  intently,  the  doubt  and 
hesitancy  still  struggling  in  her  face. 

"But  the  last  three  weeks?"  she  said,  reluctantly. 
"How  can  you  ask  me  to  believe?" 

He  had  expected  this,  and  he  met  it  steadily  enough; 
nevertheless  his  courage  faltered.  To  deceive  this 
woman,  even  to  justify  himself,  had  in  the  last  half- 
hour  become  something  sacrilegious. 

"The  last  three  weeks  must  be  buried,"  he  said, 
hurriedly.  "No  man  could  free  himself  suddenly 
from — from  a  vice."  He  broke  off  abruptly.  He 
hated  Chilcote;  he  hated  himself.  Then  Eve's  face, 
raised  in  distressed  appeal,  overshadowed  all  scruples. 
"You  have  been  silent  and  patient  for  years,"  he  said, 
suddenly.  "Can  you  be  patient  and  silent  a  little 
longer?"  He  spoke  without  consideration.  He  was 
conscious  of  no  selfishness  beneath  his  words.  In  the 
first  exercise  of  conscious  strength  the  primitive  desire 
to  reduce  all  elements  to  his  own  sovereignty  sub- 
merged every  other  emotion.  "I  can't  enter  into  the 
thing,"  he  said;  "like  you,  I  give  no  explanations. 
I  can  only  tell  you  that  on  the  day  we  talked  together 
in  this  room  I  was  myself — in  the  full  possession  of 
my  reason,  the  full  knowledge  of  my  own  capacities. 
The  man  you  have  known  in  the  last  three  weeks,  the 
man  you  have  imagined  in  the  last  four  years,  is  a 
shadow,  an  unreality  —  a  weakness  in  human  form. 
There  is  a  new  Chilcote — if  you  will  only  see  him." 

Eve  was  trembling  as  he  ceased;  her  face  was 
flushed;  there  was  a  strange  brightness  in  her  eyes. 
She  was  moved  beyond  herself. 

"But  the  other  you — the  old  you?" 

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THE    MASQUERADER 

"You  must  be  patient."  He  looked  down  into  the 
fire.  "Times  like  the  last  three  weeks  will  come  again 
■ — must  come  again;  they  are  inevitable.  When  they 
do  come,  you  must  shut  your  eyes — you  must  blind 
yourself.  You  must  ignore  them — and  me.  Is  it  a 
compact?"     He  still  avoided  her  eyes. 

She  turned  to  him  quietly.  "Yes — if  you  wish  it," 
she  said,  below  her  breath. 

He  was  conscious  of  her  glance,  but  he  dared  not 
meet  it.  He  felt  sick  at  the  part  he  was  playing,  yet 
he  held  to  it  tenaciously. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  could  do  what  few  men  and  fewer 
women  are  capable  of?"  he  asked,  at  last.  "I  wonder 
if  you  could  learn  to  live  in  the  present?"  He  lifted 
his  head  slowly  and  met  her  eyes.  "This  is  an — an 
experiment,"  he  went  on.  "And,  like  all  experiments, 
it  has  good  phases  and  bad.  When  the  bad  phases 
come  round  I — I  want  you  to  tell  yourself  that  you  are 
not  altogether  alone  in  your  unhappiness — that  I  am 
suffering  too — in  another  way." 

There  was  silence  when  he  had  spoken,  and  for  a 
space  it  seemed  that  Eve  would  make  no  response. 
Then  the  last  surprise  in  a  day  of  surprises  came  to 
him.  With  a  slight  stir,  a  slight,  quick  rustle  of  skirts, 
she  stepped  forward  and  laid  her  hand  in  his. 

The  gesture  was  simple  and  very  sweet;  her  eyes 
were  soft  and  full  of  light  as  she  raised  her  face  to  his, 
her  lips  parted  in  unconscious  appeal. 

There  is  no  surrender  so  seductive  as  the  surrender 
of  a  proud  woman.  Loder's  blood  stirred,  the  un- 
deniable suggestion  of  the  moment  thrilled  and  dis- 
concerted him  in  a  tumult  of  thought.  Honor,  duty, 
principle  rose  in  a  triple  barrier;  but  honor,  duty,  and 
"  169 


THE    MASQUERADER 

principle  are  but  words  to  a  headstrong  man.  The 
full  significance  of  his  position  came  to  him  as  it  had 
never  come  before.  His  hand  closed  on  hers;  he  bent 
towards  her,  his  pulses  beating  unevenly. 

"Eve!"  he  said.  Then  at  sound  of  his  voice  he 
suddenly  hesitated.  It  was  the  voice  of  a  man  who 
has  forgotten  everything  but  his  own  existence. 

For  an  instant  he  stayed  motionless;  then  very 
quietly  he  drew  away  from  her,  releasing  her  hands. 

"No,"  he  said.     "No— I  haven't  got  the  right." 


XVIII 

THAT  night,  for  almost  the  first  time  since  he  had 
adopted  his  dual  role,  Loder  slept  ill.  He  was 
not  a  man  over  whom  imagination  held  any  powerful 
sway  —  his  doubts  and  misgivings  seldom  ran  to 
speculation  upon  future  possibilities;  nevertheless,  the 
fact  that,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  he  had  adopted 
a  new  attitude  towards  Eve  came  home  to  him  with 
unpleasant  force  during  the  hours  of  darkness;  and 
long  before  the  first  hint  of  daylight  had  slipped 
through  the  heavy  window-curtains  he  had  arranged  a 
plan  of  action — a  plan  wherein,  by  the  simple  method 
of  altogether  avoiding  her,  he  might  soothe  his  own 
conscience  and  safeguard  Chilcote's  domestic  interests. 
It  was  a  satisfactory  if  a  somewhat  negative  arrange- 
ment, and  he  rose  next  morning  with  a  feeling  that 
things  had  begun  to  shape  themselves.  But  chance 
sometimes  has  a  disconcerting  knack  of  forestalling 
even  our  best-planned  schemes.  He  dressed  slowly, 
and  descended  to  his  solitary  breakfast  with  the 
pleasant  sensation  of  having  put  last  night  out  of 
consideration  by  the  turning  over  of  a  new  leaf;  but 
scarcely  had  he  opened  Chilcote's  letters,  scarcely  had 
he  taken  a  cursory  glance  at  the  morning's  newspaper, 
than  it  was  borne  in  upon  him  that  not  only  a  new  leaf, 
but  a  whole  sheaf  of  new  leaves,  had  been  turned  in  his 
prospects  —  by  a  hand  infinitely  more  powerful  and 

171 


THE    MASQUERADER 

arbitrary  than  his  own.  He  realized  within  the  space 
of  a  few  moments  that  the  leisure  Eve  might  have 
claimed,  the  leisure  he  might  have  been  tempted  to 
devote  to  her,  was  no  longer  his  to  dispose  of — being 
already  demanded  of  him  from  a  quarter  that  allowed 
of  no  refusal. 

For  the  first  rumbling  of  the  political  earthquake 
that  was  to  shake  the  country  made  itself  audible  be- 
yond denial  on  that  morning  of  March  27th,  when 
the  news  spread  through  England  that,  in  view  of 
the  disorganized  state  of  the  Persian  army  and  the 
Shah's  consequent  inability  to  suppress  the  open  in- 
surrection of  the  border  tribes  in  the  north-eastern 
districts  of  Meshed,  Russia,  with  a  great  show  of 
magnanimity,  had  come  to  the  rescue  by  despatch- 
ing a  large  armed  force  from  her  military  station  at 
Merv  across  the  Persian  frontier  to  the  seat  of  the 
disturbance. 

To  many  hundreds  of  Englishmen  who  read  their 
papers  on  that  morning  this  announcement  conveyed 
but  little.  That  there  is  such  a  country  as  Persia  we 
all  know,  that  English  interests  predominate  in  the 
south  and  Russian  interests  in  the  north  we  have  all 
superficially  understood  from  childhood;  but  in  this 
knowledge,  coupled  with  the  fact  that  Persia  is  com- 
fortably far  away,  we  are  apt  to  rest  content.  It  is 
only  to  the  eyes  that  see  through  long-distance  glasses, 
the  minds  that  regard  the  present  as  nothing  more  nor 
less  than  an  inevitable  link  joining  the  future  to  the 
past,  that  this  distant,  debatable  land  stands  out  in  its 
true  political  significance. 

To  the  average  reader  of  news  the  statement  of 
Russia's  move  seemed  scarcely  more  important  than 

172 


THE   MASQUERADER 

had  the  first  report  of  the  border  risings  in  January, 
but  to  the  men  who  had  watched  the  growth  of  the 
disturbance  it  came  charged  with  portentous  meaning. 
Through  the  entire  ranks  of  the  opposition,  from 
Fraide  himself  downward,  it  caused  a  thrill  of  ex- 
pectation—  that  peculiar  prophetic  sensation  that 
every  politician  has  experienced  at  some  moment  of 
his  career. 

In  no  member  of  his  party  did  this  feeling  strike 
deeper  root  than  in  Loder.  Imbued  with  a  lifelong 
interest  in  the  Eastern  question,  specially  equipped  by 
personal  knowledge  to  hold  and  proclaim  an  opinion 
upon  Persian  affairs,  he  read  the  signs  and  portents 
with  instinctive  insight.  Seated  at  Chilcote's  table, 
surrounded  by  Chilcote's  letters  and  papers,  he  forgot 
the  breakfast  that  was  slowly  growing  cold,  forgot  the 
interests  and  dangers,  personal  or  pleasurable,  of  the 
night  before,  while  his  mental  eyes  persistently  con- 
jured up  the  map  of  Persia,  travelling  with  steady 
deliberation  from  Merv  to  Meshed,  from  Meshed  to 
Herat,  from  Herat  to  the  empire  of  India!  For  it  was 
not  the  fact  that  the  Hazaras  had  risen  against  the 
Shah  that  occupied  the  thinking  mind,  nor  was  it 
the  fact  that  Russian  and  not  Persian  troops  were 
destined  to  subdue  them,  but  the  deeply  impor- 
tant consideration  that  an  armed  Russian  force  had 
crossed  the  frontier  and  was  encamped  within  twenty 
miles  of  Meshed — Meshed,  upon  which  covetous  Rus- 
sian eyes  have  rested  ever  since  the  days  of  Peter  the 
Great. 

So  Loder's  thoughts  ran  as  he  read  and  reread  the 
news  from  the  varying  political  stand-points,  and  so 
they  continued  to  run  when,  some  hours  later,  an  urgent 

i73 


THE   MASQUERADER 

telephone  message  from  the  St.  George's  Gazette  asked 
him  to  call  at  Lakely's  office. 

The  message  was  interesting  as  well  as  imperative, 
and  he  made  an  instant  response.  The  thought  of 
Lakely's  keen  eyes  and  shrewd  enthusiasms  always 
possessed  strong  attractions  for  his  own  slower  tem- 
perament, but  even  had  this  impetus  been  lacking,  the 
knowledge  that  at  the  St.  George's  offices,  if  anywhere, 
the  true  feelings  of  the  party  were  invariably  voiced 
would  have  drawn  him  without  hesitation. 

It  was  scarcely  twelve  o'clock  when  he  turned  the 
corner  of  the  tall  building,  but  already  the  keen  spirit 
that  Lakely  everywhere  diffused  was  making  itself 
felt.  Loder  smiled  to  himself  as  his  eyes  fell  on  the 
day's  placards  with  their  uncompromising  headings, 
and  passed  onward  from  the  string  of  gayly  painted 
carts  drawn  up  to  receive  their  first  consignment  of  the 
paper  to  the  troop  of  eager  newsboys  passing  in  and 
out  of  the  big  swing-doors  with  their  piled-up  bundles 
of  the  early  edition;  and  with  a  renewed  thrill  of  an- 
ticipation and  energy  he  passed  through  the  doorway 
and  ran  up-stairs. 

Passing  unchallenged  through  the  long  corridor  that 
led  to  Lakely's  office,  he  caught  a  fresh  impression  of 
action  and  vitality  from  the  click  of  the  tape  machines 
in  the  subeditors'  office,  and  a  glimpse  through  the  open 
door  of  the  subeditors  themselves,  each  occupied  with 
his  particular  task;  then  without  time  for  further  ob- 
servation he  found  himself  at  Lakely's  door.  Without 
waiting  to  knock,  as  he  had  felt  compelled  to  do  on 
the  one  or  two  previous  occasions  that  business  had 
brought  him  there,  he  immediately  turned  the  handle 
and  entered  the  room. 

174 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Editors'  offices  differ  but  little  in  general  effect. 
Lakely's  surroundings  were  rather  more  elaborate  than 
is  usual,  as  became  the  dignity  of  the  oldest  Tory 
evening  paper,  but  the  atmosphere  was  unmistakable, 
As  Loder  entered  he  glanced  up  from  the  desk  at 
which  he  was  sitting,  but  instantly  returned  to  his 
task  of  looking  through  and  marking  the  pile  of  early 
evening  editions  that  were  spread  around  him.  His 
coat  was  off  and  hung  on  the  chair  behind  him,  and  he 
pulled  vigorously  on  a  long  cigar. 

"Hullo!  That's  right,"  he  said,  laconically.  "Make 
yourself  comfortable  half  a  second,  while  I  skim  the 
St.  Stephen's." 

His  salutation  pleased  Loder.  With  a  nod  of  ac- 
quiescence he  crossed  the  office  to  the  brisk  fire  that 
burned  in  the  grate. 

For  a  minute  or  two  Lakely  worked  steadily,  oc- 
casionally breaking  the  quiet  by  an  unintelligible  re- 
mark or  a  vigorous  stroke  of  his  pencil.  At  last  he 
dropped  the  paper  with  a  gesture  of  satisfaction  and 
leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "what  d'you  think  of  this?  How's 
this  for  a  complication?" 

Loder  turned  round.  "I  think,"  he  said,  quietly, 
"that  we  can't  overestimate  it." 

Lakely  laughed  and  took  a  long  pull  at  his  cigar. 
"And  we  mustn't  be  afraid  to  let  the  Sefborough  crowd 
know  it,  eh  ?"  He  waved  his  hand  to  the  poster  of  the 
first  edition  that  hung  before  his  desk. 

Loder,  following  his  glance,  smiled. 

Lakely  laughed  again.  "They  might  have  known 
it  all  along,  if  they'd  cared  to  deduce,"  he  said.  "Did 
they  really  believe  that  Russia  was  going  to  sit  calm- 

*75 


THE    MASQUERADER 

ly  looking  across  the  Heri-Rud  while  the  Shah  played 
at  mobilizing?  But  what  became  of  you  last  night? 
We  had  a  regular  prophesying  of  the  whole  business  at 
Bramfell's;  the  great  Fraide  looked  in  for  five  minutes. 
I  went  on  with  him  to  the  club  afterwards  and  was 
there  when  the  news  came  in.     'Twas  a  great  night!" 

Loder's  face  lighted  up.  "I  can  imagine  it,"  he 
said,  with  an  unusual  touch  of  warmth. 

Lakely  watched  him  intently  for  a  moment.  Then 
with  a  quick  action  he  leaned  forward  and  rested  his 
elbows  on  the  desk. 

"It's  going  to  be  something  more  than  imagination 
for  you,  Chilcote,"  he  said,  impressively.  "It's  going 
to  be  solid  earnest!"  He  spoke  rapidly  and  with 
rather  more  than  his  usual  shrewd  decisiveness;  then 
he  paused  to  see  the  effect  of  his  announcement. 

Loder  was  still  studying  the  flaring  poster.  At  the 
other's  words  he  turned  sharply.  Something  in  Lake- 
ly's  voice,  something  in  his  manner,  arrested  him.  A 
tinge  of  color  crossed  his  face. 

"Reality?"  he  said.     "What  do  you  mean?" 

For  a  further  space  his  companion  watched  him; 
then  with  a  rapid  movement  he  tilted  back  his  chair. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "Yes;  old  Fraide's  instincts  are 
never  far  out.     He's  quite  right.     You're  the  man!" 

Still  quietly,  but  with  a  strange  underglow  of  excite- 
ment, Loder  left  the  fire,  and,  coming  forward,  took 
a  chair  at  Lakely's  desk. 

"Do  you  mind  telling  me  what  you're  driving  at?" 
he  asked,  in  his  old,  laconic  voice. 

Lakely  still  scrutinized  him  with  an  air  of  brisk 
satisfaction;  then  with  a  gesture  of  finality  he  tossed 
his  cigar  away. 

176 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"My  dear  chap,"  he  said,  "there's  going  to  be  a 
breach  somewhere — and  Fraide  says  you're  the  man 
to  step  in  and  fill  it!  You  see,  five  years  ago,  when 
things  looked  lively  on  the  Gulf  and  the  Bundar 
Abbas  business  came  to  light,  you  did  some  promising 
work;  and  a  reputation  like  that  sticks  to  a  man — 
even  when  he  turns  slacker!  I  won't  deny  that  you've 
slacked  abominably,"  he  added,  as  Loder  made  an 
uneasy  movement,  "but  slacking  has  different  effects. 
Some  men  run  to  seed,  others  mature.  I  had  almost 
put  you  down  on  the  black  list,  but  I've  altered  my 
mind  in  the  last  two  months." 

Again  Loder  stirred  in  his  seat.  A  host  of  emotions 
were  stirring  in  his  mind.  Every  word  wrung  from 
Lakely  was  another  stimulus  to  pride,  another  subtle 
tribute  to  the  curious  force  of  personality. 

"Well?"  he  said.     "Well?" 

Lakely  smiled.  "We  all  know  that  Sefborough's 
ministry  is — well,  top-heavy,"  he  said.  "Sefborough 
is  building  his  card  house  just  a  story  too  high.  It's 
a  toss-up  what  '11  upset  the  balance.  It  might  be  the 
army,  of  course,  or  it  might  be  education;  but  it 
might  quite  as  well  be  a  matter  of  foreign  policy!" 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  comprehensive  silence. 

"You  know  as  well  as  I  that  it's  not  the  question  of 
whether  Russia  comes  into  Persia,  but  the  question 
of  whether  Russia  goes  out  of  Persia  when  these 
Hazaras  are  subdued!  I'll  lay  you  what  you  like, 
Chilcote,  that  within  one  week  we  hear  that  the 
risings  are  suppressed,  but  that  Russia,  instead  of  re- 
tiring, has  advanced  those  tempting  twenty  miles  and 
comfortably  ensconced  herself  at  Meshed  —  as  she 
ensconced  herself  on  the  island  of  Ashurada.     Lakely 's 

177 


THE    MASQUERADER 

nervous,  energetic   figure  was   braced,  his   light-blue 
eyes  brightened,  by  the  intensity  of  his  interest. 

"If  this  news  comes  before  the  Easter  recess,"  he 
went  on,  "the  first  nail  can  be  hammered  in  on  the 
motion  for  adjournment.  And  if  the  right  man  does 
it  in  the  right  way,  I'll  lay  my  life  'twill  be  a  nail  in 
Sefborough's  coffin." 

Loder  sat  very  still.  Overwhelming  possibilities  had 
suddenly  opened  before  him.  In  a  moment  the  un- 
reality of  the  past  months  had  become  real ;  a  tangible 
justification  of  himself  and  his  imposture  was  suddenly 
made  possible.  In  the  stress  of  understanding  he,  too, 
leaned  forward,  and,  resting  his  elbows  on  the  desk, 
took  his  face  between  his  hands. 

For  a  space  Lakely  made  no  remark.  To  him  man 
and  man's  moods  came  second  in  interest  to  his 
paper  and  his  party  politics.  That  Chilcote  should  be 
conscious  of  the  glories  he  had  opened  up  seemed  only 
natural;  that  he  should  show  that  consciousness  in 
a  becoming  gravity  seemed  only  right.  For  some 
seconds  he  made  no  attempt  to  disturb  him;  but  at 
last  his  own  irrepressible  activity  made  silence  un- 
endurable. He  caught  up  his  pencil  and  tapped  im- 
patiently on  the  desk. 

"Chilcote,"  he  said,  quickly  and  with  a  gleam  of 
sudden  anxiety,  "you're  not  by  any  chance  doubtful 
of  yourself?" 

At  sound  of  his  voice  Loder  lifted  his  face;  it  was 
quite  pale  again,  but  the  energy  and  resolution  that 
had  come  into  it  when  Lakely  first  spoke  were  still 
to  be  seen. 

"No,  Lakely,"  he  said,  very  slowly,  "it's  not  the 
sort  of  moment  in  which  a  man  doubts  himself." 

178 


XIX 

AND  so  it  came  about  that  Loder  was  freed  from 
f\  one  responsibility  to  undertake  another.  From 
the  morning  of  March  27th,  when  Lakely  had  ex- 
pounded the  political  programme  in  the  offices  of  the 
St.  George's  Gazette,  to  the  afternoon  of  April  1st  he 
found  himself  a  central  figure  in  the  whirlpool  of  ac- 
tivity that  formed  itself  in  Conservative  circles. 

With  the  acumen  for  which  he  was  noted,  Lakely 
had  touched  the  key-stone  of  the  situation  on  that 
morning;  and  succeeding  events,  each  fraught  with  its 
own  importance,  had  established  the  precision  of  his 
forecast. 

Minutely  watchful  of  Russia's  attitude,  Fraide  quiet- 
ly organized  his  forces  and  strengthened  his  position 
with  a  statesmanlike  grasp  of  opportunity;  and  to 
Loder  the  attributes  displayed  by  his  leader  during 
those  trying  days  formed  an  endless  and  absorbing 
study.  Setting  the  thought  of  Chilcote  aside,  ignor- 
ing his  own  position  and  the  risks  he  daily  ran,  he 
had  fully  yielded  to  the  glamour  of  the  moment,  and 
in  the  first  freedom  of  a  loose  rein  he  had  given  unre- 
servedly all  that  he  possessed  of  activity,  capacity, 
and  determination  to  the  cause  that  had  claimed 
him. 

Singularly  privileged  in  a  constant,  personal  contact 
with  Fraide,  he  learned  many  valuable  lessons  of  tact 

179 


THE   MASQUERADER 

and  organization  in  those  five  vital  days  during  which 
the  tactics  of  a  whole  party  hung  upon  one  item  of 
news  from  a  country  thousands  of  miles  away.  For 
should  Russia  subdue  the  insurgent  Hazaras  and, 
laden  with  the  honors  of  the  peacemaker,  retire  across 
the  frontier,  then  the  political  arena  would  remain 
undisturbed;  but  should  the  all-important  movement 
predicted  by  Lakely  become  an  accepted  fact  before 
Parliament  rose  for  the  Easter  recess,  then  the  first 
blow  in  the  fight  that  would  rage  during  the  succeeding 
session  must  inevitably  be  struck.  In  the  mean  time 
it  was  Fraide's  difficult  position  to  wait  and  watch  and 
yet  preserve  his  dignity. 

It  was  early  in  the  afternoon  of  March  29th  that 
Loder,  in  response  to  a  long-standing  invitation, 
lunched  quietly  with  the  Fraides.  Being  delayed 
by  some  communications  from  Wark,  he  was  a  few 
minutes  late  in  keeping  his  appointment,  and  on 
being  shown  into  the  drawing-room  found  the  little 
group  of  three  that  was  to  make  up  the  party  already 
assembled — Fraide,  Lady  Sarah — and  Eve.  As  he 
entered  the  room  they  ceased  to  speak,  and  all  three 
turned  in  his  direction. 

In  the  first  moment  he  had  a  vague  impression  of 
responding  suitably  to  Lady  Sarah's  cordial  greeting; 
but  he  knew  that  immediately  and  unconsciously  his 
eyes  turned  to  Eve,  while  a  quick  sense  of  surprise 
and  satisfaction  passed  through  him  at  sight  of  her. 
For  an  instant  he  wondered  how  she  would  mark  his 
avoidance  of  her  since  their  last  eventful  interview; 
then  instantly  he  blamed  himself  for  the  passing  doubt. 
For,  before  all  things,  he  knew  her  to  be  a  woman  of 
the  world. 

180 


THE    MASQUERADER 

He  took  Fraide's  outstretched  hand;  and  again  he 
looked  towards  Eve,  waiting  for  her  to  speak. 

She  met  his  glance,  but  said  nothing.  Instead  of 
speaking  she  smiled  at  him — a  smile  that  was  far  more 
reassuring  than  any  words,  a  smile  that  in  a  single 
second  conveyed  forgiveness,  approbation,  and  a 
warm,  almost  tender  sense  of  sympathy  and  compre- 
hension. The  remembrance  of  that  smile  stayed  with 
him  long  after  they  were  seated  at  table;  and  far  into 
the  future  the  remembrance  of  the  lunch  itself,  with 
its  pleasant  private  sense  of  satisfaction,  was  destined 
to  return  to  him  in  retrospective  moments.  The  de- 
lightful atmosphere  of  the  Fraides'  home  life  had  al- 
ways been  a  wonder  and  an  enigma  to  him;  but  on 
this  day  he  seemed  to  grasp  its  meaning  by  a  new  light, 
as  he  watched  Eve  soften  under  its  influence  and  felt 
himself  drawn  imperceptibly  from  the  position  of  a 
speculative  outsider  to  that  of  an  intimate.  It  was 
a  fresh  side  to  the  complex,  fascinating  life  of  which 
Fraide  was  the  master  spirit. 

These  reflections  had  grown  agreeably  familiar  to 
his  mind;  the  talk,  momentarily  diverted  into  social 
channels,  was  quietly  drifting  back  to  the  inevitable 
question  of  the  "situation"  that  in  private  moments 
was  never  far  from  their  lips,  when  the  event  that  was 
to  mark  and  separate  that  day  from  those  that  had 
preceded  it  was  unceremoniously  thrust  upon  them. 

Without  announcement  or  apology,  the  door  was 
suddenly  flung  open  and  Lakely  entered  the  room. 

His  face  was  brimming  with  excitement,  and  his 
eyes  flashed.  In  the  first  haste  of  the  entry  he  failed 
to  see  that  there  were  ladies  in  the  room,  and,  crossing 
instantly  to  Fraide,  laid  an  open  telegram  before  him. 

181 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"This  is  official,  sir,"  he  said.  Then  at  last  he  glanced 
round  the  table. 

"Lady  Sarah!"  he  exclaimed.  "Can  you  forgive 
me?  But  I'd  have  given  a  hundred  pounds  to  be  the 
first  with  this!"     He  glanced  back  at  Fraide. 

Lady  Sarah  rose  and  stretched  out  her  hand.  "Mr. 
Lakely,"  she  said,  "I  more  than  understand!"  There 
was  a  thrill  in  her  warm,  cordial  voice,  and  her  eyes 
also  turned  towards  her  husband. 

Of  the  whole  party,  Fraide  alone  was  perfectly  calm. 
He  sat  very  still,  his  small,  thin  figure  erect  and  digni- 
fied, as  his  eyes  scanned  the  message  that  meant  so 
much. 

Eve,  who  had  sprung  from  her  seat  and  passed 
round  the  table  at  sound  of  Lakely 's  news,  was  leaning 
over  his  shoulder,  reading  the  telegram  with  him. 
At  the  last  word  she  lifted  her  head,  her  face  flushed 
with  excitement. 

"How  splendid  it  must  be  to  be  a  man!"  she  ex- 
claimed. And  without  premeditation  her  eyes  and 
Loder's  met. 

In  this  manner  came  the  news  from  Persia,  and  with 
it  Loder's  definite  call.  In  the  momentary  stress  of 
action  it  was  impossible  that  any  thought  of  Chilcote 
could  obtrude  itself.  Events  had  followed  each  other 
too  rapidly,  decisive  action  had  been  too  much  thrust 
upon  him,  to  allow  of  hesitation;  and  it  was  in  this 
spirit,  under  this  vigorous  pressure,  that  he  made  his 
attack  upon  the  government  on  the  day  that  followed 
Fraide's  luncheon  party. 

That  indefinable  attentiveness,  that  alert  sensation  of 
impending  storm,  that  is  so  strong  an  index  of  the  parlia- 

182 


THE   MASQUERADER 

mentary  atmosphere  was  very  keen  on  that  memorable 
first  of  April.  It  was  obvious  in  the  crowded  benches 
on  both  sides  of  the  House — in  the  oneness  of  purpose 
that  insensibly  made  itself  felt  through  the  ranks  of  the 
Opposition,  and  found  definite  expression  in  Fraide's 
stiff  figure  and  tightly  shut  lips — in  the  unmistakable 
uneasiness  that  lay  upon  the  ministerial  benches. 

But  notwithstanding  these  indications  of  battle,  the 
early  portion  of  the  proceedings  was  unmarked  by 
excitement,  being  tinged  with  the  purposeless  lack  of 
vitality  that  had  of  late  marked  all  affairs  of  the  Sef- 
borough  Ministry;  and  it  was  not  until  the  adjourn- 
ment of  the  House  for  the  Easter  recess  had  at  last  been 
moved  that  the  spirit  of  activity  hovering  in  the  air  de- 
scended and  galvanized  the  assembly  into  life.  It  was 
then,  amid  a  stir  of  interest,  that  Loder  slowly  rose. 

Many  curious  incidents  have  marked  the  speech- 
making  annals  of  the  House  of  Commons,  but  it  is 
doubtful  whether  it  has  ever  been  the  lot  of  a  member 
to  hear  his  own  voice  raised  for  the  first  time  on  a 
subject  of  vital  interest  to  his  party,  having  been 
denied  all  initial  assistance  of  minor  questions  asked 
or  unimportant  amendments  made.  Of  all  those 
gathered  together  in  the  great  building  on  that  day, 
only  one  man  appreciated  the  difficulty  of  Loder's 
position — and  that  man  was  Loder  himself. 

He  rose  slowly  and  stood  silent  for  a  couple  of 
seconds,  his  body  braced,  his  fingers  touching  the  sheaf 
of  notes  that  lay  in  front  of  him.  To  the  waiting 
House  the  silence  was  effective.  It  might  mean  over- 
assurance,  or  it  might  mean  a  failure  of  nerve  at  a 
critical  moment.  Either  possibility  had  a  tinge  of 
piquancy.     Moved  by  the  same  impulse,  fifty  pairs  of 

183 


THE    MASQUERADER 

eyes  turned  upon  him  with  new  interest ;  but  up  in  the 
Ladies'  Gallery  Eve  clasped  her  hands  in  sudden  appre- 
hension; and  Fraide,  sitting  stiffly  in  his  seat,  turned 
and  shot  one  swift  glance  at  the  man  on  whom,  against 
prudence  and  precedent,  he  had  pinned  his  faith.  The 
glance  was  swift  but  very  searching,  and  with  a 
characteristic  movement  of  his  wiry  shoulders  he  re- 
sumed his  position  and  his  usual  grave,  attentive 
attitude.  At  the  same  moment  Loder  lifted  his  head 
and  began  to  speak. 

Here  at  the  outset  his  inexperience  met  him.  His 
voice,  pitched  too  low,  only  reached  those  directly  near 
him.  It  was  a  moment  of  great  strain.  Eve,  listening 
intently,  drew  a  long  breath  of  suspense  and  let  her 
fingers  drop  apart;  the  sceptical,  watchful  eyes  that 
faced  him,  line  upon  line,  seemed  to  flash  and  brighten 
with  critical  interest;  only  Fraide  made  no  change 
of  expression.  He  sat  placid,  serious,  attentive,  with 
the  shadow  of  a  smile  behind  his  eyes. 

Again  Loder  paused,  but  this  time  the  pause  was 
shorter.  The  ordeal  he  had  dreaded  and  waited  for  was 
passed  and  he  saw  his  way  clearly.  With  the  old  move- 
ment of  the  shoulders  he  straightened  himself  and  once 
more  began  to  speak.  This  time  his  voice  rang  quietly 
true  and  commanding  across  the  floor  of  the  House. 

No  first  step  can  be  really  great ;  it  must  of  necessity 
possess  more  of  prophecy  than  of  achievement;  never- 
theless it  is  by  the  first  step  that  a  man  marks  the 
value,  not  only  of  his  cause,  but  of  himself.  Following 
broadly  on  the  lines  that  tradition  has  laid  down  for 
the  Conservative  orator,  Loder  disguised  rather  than 
displayed  the  vein  of  strong,  persuasive  eloquence 
that  was  his  natural  gift.     The  occasion  that  might 

184 


THE   MASQUERADER 

possibly  justify  such  a  display  of  individuality  might 
lie  with  the  future,  but  it  had  no  application  to  the 
present.  For  the  moment  his  duty  was  to  voice  his 
party  sentiments  with  as  much  lucidity,  as  much  logic, 
and  as  much  calm  conviction  as  lay  within  his  capacity. 

Standing  quietly  in  Chilcote's  place,  he  was  conscious 
with  a  deep  sense  of  gravity  of  the  peculiarity  of  his 
position ;  and  perhaps  it  was  this  unconscious  and  un- 
studied seriousness  that  lent  him  the  tone  of  weight 
and  judgment  so  essential  to  the  cause  he  had  in  hand. 
It  has  always  been  difficult  to  arouse  the  interest  of  the 
House  on  matters  of  British  policy  in  Persia.  Once 
aroused,  it  may,  it  is  true,  reach  fever  heat  with  re- 
markable rapidity,  but  the  introductory  stages  offer 
that  worst  danger  to  the  earnest  speaker — the  dread 
of  an  apathetic  audience.  But  from  this  consideration 
Loder,  by  his  sharp  consciousness  of  personal  difficul- 
ties, was  given  immunity. 

Pitching  his  voice  in  that  quietly  masterful  tone 
that  beyond  all  others  compels  attention,  he  took  up 
his  subject  and  dealt  with  it  with  dispassionate  force. 
With  great  skill  he  touched  on  the  steady  southward 
advance  of  Russia  into  Persian  territory  from  the 
distant  days  when,  by  a  curious  irony  of  fate,  Russian 
and  British  enterprise  combined  to  make  entry  into  the 
country  under  the  sanction  of  the  Grand -Duke  of 
Moscovy,  to  the  present  hour,  when  this  great  power  of 
Russia  —  long  since  alienated  by  interests  and  desires 
from  her  former  co-operator — had  taken  a  step  which 
in  the  eyes  of  every  thinking  man  must  possess  a  deep 
significance.  With  quiet  persistence  he  pointed  out 
the  peculiar  position  of  Meshed  in  the  distant  province 
of  Khorasan;  its  vast  distance  from  the  Persian  Gulf, 
13  185 


THE    MASQUERADER 

round  which  British  interests  and  influence  centre,  and 
the  consequently  alarming  position  of  hundreds  of 
traders  who,  in  the  security  of  British  sovereignty,  are 
fighting  their  way  upward  from  India,  from  Afghanis- 
tan, even  from  England  herself. 

Following  up  his  point,  he  dilated  on  these  subjects 
of  the  British  crown  who,  cut  off  from  adequate 
assistance,  can  only  turn  in  personal  or  commercial 
peril  to  the  protective  power  of  the  nearest  consulate. 
Then,  quietly  demanding  the  attention  of  his  hearers, 
he  marshalled  fact  after  fact  to  demonstrate  the 
isolation  and  inadequacy  of  a  consulate  so  situated, 
the  all  but  arbitrary  power  of  Russia,  who  in  her  new 
occupation  of  Meshed  had  only  two  considerations  to 
withhold  her  from  open  aggression — the  knowledge  of 
England  as  a  very  considerable  but  also  a  very  distant 
power;  the  knowledge  of  Persia  as  an  imminent  but 
wholly  impotent  factor  in  the  case. 

Having  stalled  his  opinions,  he  reverted  to  the 
motive  of  his  speech — his  desire  to  put  forward  a 
strong  protest  against  the  adjournment  of  the  House 
without  an  assurance  from  the  government  that 
immediate  measures  would  be  taken  to  safeguard 
British  interests  in  Meshed  and  throughout  the 
province  of  Khorasan. 

The  immediate  outcome  of  Loder's  speech  was  all  that 
his  party  had  desired.  The  effect  on  the  House  had 
been  marked;  and  when,  no  satisfactory  response 
coming  to  his  demand,  he  had  in  still  more  resolute  and 
insistent  terms  called  for  a  division  on  the  motion  for 
adjournment,  the  result  had  been  an  appreciable  fall 
in  the  government  majority. 

186 


THE    MASQUERADER 

To  Loder  himself,  the  realization  that  he  had  at 
last  vindicated  and  justified  himself  by  individual 
action  had  a  peculiar  effect.  His  position  had  been 
altered  in  one  remarkable  particular.  Before  this  day 
he  alone  had  known  himself  to  be  strong;  now  the 
knowledge  was  shared  by  others  and  he  was  human 
enough  to  be  susceptible  to  the  change. 

The  first  appreciation  of  it  came  immediately  after 
the  excitement  of  the  division,  when  Fraide,  singling 
him  out,  took  his  arm  and  pressed  it  affectionately. 

"My  dear  Chilcote,"  he  said,  "we  are  all  proud  of 
you!"  Then,  looking  up  into  his  face,  he  added,  in  a 
graver  tone,  "But  keep  your  mind  upon  the  future; 
never  be  blinded  by  the  present — however  bright  it 
seems." 

At  the  touch  of  his  hand,  at  the  spontaneous  ap- 
proval of  his  first  words,  Loder 's  pride  thrilled,  and  in  a 
vehement  rush  of  ambition  his  senses  answered  to  the 
praise.  Then,  as  Fraide  in  all  unconsciousness  added 
his  second  sentence,  the  hot  glow  of  feeling  suddenly 
chilled.  In  a  sweep  of  intuitive  reaction  the  meaning 
and  the  danger  of  his  falsely  real  position  extinguished 
his  excitement  and  turned  his  triumph  cold.  With  an 
involuntary  gesture  he  withdrew  his  arm. 

"You're  very  good,  sir,"  he  said.  "And  you're  very 
right.    We  never  should  forget  that  there  is — a  future." 

The  old  man  glanced  up,  surprised  by  the  tone. 

"Quite  so,  Chilcote,"  he  said,  kindly.  "But  we 
only  advise  those  in  whom  we  believe  to  look  towards 
it.  Shall  we  find  my  wife  ?  I  know  she  will  want  to 
bear  you  home    with  us." 

But  Loder's  joy  in  himself  and  his  achievement  had 
dropped  from  him.     He  shrank  suddenly  from  Lady 

187 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Sarah's  congratulations  and  Eve's  warm,  silent  ap- 
probation. 

"Thanks,  sir,"  he  said,  "but  I  don't  feel  fit  for 
society.  A  touch  of  my  —  nerves,  I  suppose."  He 
laughed  shortly.  "  But  do  you  mind  saying  to  Eve 
that  I  hope  I  have — satisfied  her?"  he  added  this  as  if 
in  half -reluctant  after -thought.  Then,  with  a  short 
pressure  of  Fraide's  hand,  he  turned,  evading  the  many 
groups  that  waited  to  claim  him,  and  passed  out  of  the 
House  alone. 

Hailing  a  cab,  he  drove  to  Grosvenor  Square.  All 
the  exaltation  of  an  hour  ago  had  turned  to  ashes. 
His  excitement  had  found  its  culmination  in  a  sense 
of  futility  and  premonition. 

He  met  no  one  in  the  hall  or  on  the  stairs  of  Chilcote's 
house,  and  on  entering  the  study  he  found  that  also 
deserted.  Greening  had  been  among  the  most  ab- 
sorbed of  those  who  had  listened  to  his  speech.  Pass- 
ing at  once  into  the  room,  he  crossed  as  if  by  instinct 
to  the  desk,  and  there  halted.  On  the  top  of  some 
unopened  letters  lay  the  significant  yellow  envelope 
of  a  telegram  —  the  telegram  that  in  an  unformed, 
subconscious  way  had  sprung  to  his  expectation  on  the 
moment  of  Fraide's  congratulation. 

Very  quietly  he  picked  it  up,  opened  and  read  it, 
and,  with  the  automatic  caution  that  had  become 
habitual,  carried  it  across  the  room  and  dropped  it 
in  the  fire.  This  done,  he  returned  to  the  desk,  read 
the  letters  that  awaited  Chilcote,  and,  scribbling  the 
necessary  notes  upon  the  margins,  left  them  in  readi- 
ness for  Greening.  Then,  moving  with  the  same  quiet 
suppression,  he  passed  from  the  room,  down  the* 
stairs,  and  out  into  the  street  by  the  way  he  had  come. 

188 


XX 

ON  the  fifth  day  after  the  momentous  ist  of 
April  on  which  he  had  recalled  Loder  and  re- 
sumed his  own  life  Chilcote  left  his  house  and  walked 
towards  Bond  Street.  Though  the  morning  was  clear 
and  the  air  almost  warm  for  the  time  of  year,  he  was 
buttoned  into  a  long  overcoat  and  was  wearing  a 
muffler  and  a  pair  of  doeskin  gloves.  As  he  passed 
along  the  street  he  kept  close  to  the  house  fronts  to 
avoid  the  sun  that  was  everywhere  stirring  the  winter- 
bound  town,  like  a  suffusion  of  young  blood  through 
old  veins.  He  avoided  the  warmth  because  in  this 
instance  warmth  meant  light,  but  as  he  moved  he 
shivered  slightly  from  time  to  time  with  the  haunting, 
permeating  cold  that  of  late  had  become  his  persistent 
shadow. 

He  was  ill  at  ease  as  he  hurried  forward.  With  each 
succeeding  day  of  the  old  life  the  new  annoyances,  the 
new  obligations  became  more  hampering.  Before  his 
compact  with  Loder  this  old  life  had  been  a  net  about 
his  feet;  now  the  meshes  seemed  to  have  narrowed,  the 
net  itself  to  have  spread  till  it  smothered  his  whole 
being.  His  own  household — his  own  rooms,  even — 
offered  no  sanctuary.  The  presence  of  another  per- 
sonality tinged  the  atmosphere.  It  was  preposterous, 
but  it  was  undeniable.  The  lay  figure  that  he  had 
set  in  his  place  had  proved  to  be  flesh  and  blood — had 

189 


THE    MASQUERADER 

usurped  his  life,  his  position,  his  very  personality,  by 
sheer  right  of  strength.  As  he  walked  along  Bond 
Street  in  the  first  sunshine  of  the  year,  jostled  by  the 
well-dressed  crowd,  he  felt  a  pariah. 

He  revolted  at  the  new  order  of  things,  but  the 
revolt  was  a  silent  one — the  iron  of  expediency  had 
entered  into  his  soul.  He  dared  not  jeopardize  Loder's 
position',  because  he  dared  not  dispense  with  Loder. 
The  door  that  guarded  his  vice  drew  him  more  resist- 
lessly  with  every  indulgence,  and  Loder's  was  the 
voice  that  called  the  "Open  Sesame!" 

He  walked  on  aimlessly.  He  had  been  but  five 
days  at  home,  and  already  the  quiet,  grass -grown 
court  of  Clifford's  Inn,  the  bare  staircase,  the  comfort- 
less privacy  of  Loder's  rooms  seemed  a  haven  of 
refuge.  The  speed  with  which  this  hunger  had  re- 
turned frightened  him. 

He  walked  forward  rapidly  and  without  encounter- 
ing a  check.  Then,  suddenly,  the  spell  was  broken. 
From  the  slowly  moving,  brilliantly  dressed  throng 
of  people  some  one  called  him  by  his  name;  and 
turning  he  saw  Lillian  Astrupp. 

She  was  stepping  from  the  door  of  a  jeweller's,  and 
as  he  turned  she  paused,  holding  out  her  hand. 

"The  very  person  I  would  have  wished  to  see!" 
she  exclaimed.  "  Where  have  you  been  these  hundred 
years?  I've  heard  of  nobody  but  you  since  you've 
turned  politician  and  ceased  to  be  a  mere  member  of 
Parliament!"  She  laughed  softly.  The  laugh  suited 
the  light  spring  air,  as  she  herself  suited  the  pleasant, 
superficial  scene. 

He  took  her  hand  and  held  it,  while  his  eyes  travelled 
from  her  delicate  face  to  her  pale  cloth  gown,  from 

190 


THE    MASQUERADER 

her  soft  furs  to  the  bunch  of  roses  fastened  in  her  muff. 
The  sight  of  her  was  a  curious  relief.  Her  cool,  slim 
fingers  were  so  casual,  yet  so  clinging,  her  voice  and  her 
presence  were  so  redolent  of  easy,  artificial  things. 

"How  well  you  look!"  he  said,  involuntarily. 

Again  she  laughed.  "That's  my  prerogative,"  she 
responded,  lightly.  "But  I  was  serious  in  being  glad 
to  see  you.  Sarcastic  people  are  always  so  intuitive. 
I'm  looking  for  some  one  with  intuition." 

Chilcote  glanced  up.  "Extravagant  again?"  he 
said,  dryly. 

She  smiled  at  him  sweetly.  "Jack!"  she  murmured 
with  slow  reproach. 

Chilcote  laughed  quickly.  "I  understand.  You've 
changed  your  Minister  of  Finance.  I'm  wanted  in 
some  other  direction." 

This  time  her  reproach  was  expressed  by  a  glance. 
"You  are  always  wanted,"  she  said. 

The  words  seemed  to  rouse  him  again  to  the 
shadowy  self-distrust  that  the  sight  of  her  had  lifted. 

"It's — it's  delightful  to  meet  you  like  this,"  he 
began,  "and  I  wish  the  meeting  wasn't  momentary. 
But  I'm — I'm  rather  pressed  for  time.  You  must  let 
me  come  round  one  afternoon — or  evening,  when  you're 
alone."  He  fumbled  for  a  moment  with  the  collar 
of  his  coat,  and  glanced  furtively  upward  towards 
Oxford  Street. 

But  again  Lillian  smiled — this  time  to  herself.  If 
she  understood  anything  on  earth  it  was  Chilcote  and 
his  moods. 

"  If  one  may  be  careless  of  anything,  Jack,"  she  said, 
lightly,  "surely  it's  of  time.  I  can  imagine  being 
pressed  for  anything  else  in  the  world.     If   it's   an 

191 


THE   MASQUERADER 

appointment  you're  worrying  about,  a  motor  goes  ever 
so  much  faster  than  a  cab — "  She  looked  at  him  ten- 
tatively, her  head  slightly  on  one  side,  her  muff  raised 
till  the  roses  and  some  of  the  soft  fur  touched  her 
cheek. 

She  looked  very  charming  and  very  persuasive  as 
Chilcote  glanced  back.  Again  she  seemed  to  represent 
a  respite — something  graceful  and  subtle  in  a  world  of 
oppressive  obligations.  His  eyes  strayed  from  her 
figure  to  the  smart  motor-car  drawn  up  beside  the 
curb. 

She  saw  the  glance.  "Ever  so  much  quicker,"  she 
insinuated;  and,  smiling  again,  she  stepped  forward 
from  the  door  of  the  shop.  After  a  second's  indecision 
Chilcote  followed  her. 

The  waiting  car  had  three  seats — one  in  front  for 
the  chauffeur,  two  vis-a-vis  at  the  back,  offering 
pleasant  possibilities  of  a  tete-a-tete. 

"The  Park — and  drive  slowly,"  Lillian  ordered,  as 
she  stepped  inside,  motioning  Chilcote  to  the  seat 
opposite. 

They  moved  up  Bond  Street  smoothly  and  rapidly. 
Lillian  was  absorbed  in  the  passing  traffic  until  the 
Marble  Arch  was  reached;  then,  as  they  glided  through 
the  big  gates,  she  looked  across  at  her  companion.  He 
had  turned  up  the  collar  of  his  coat,  though  the  wind 
was  scarcely  perceptible,  and  buried  himself  in  it  to 
the  ears. 

"It  is  extraordinary!"  she  exclaimed,  suddenly,  as 
her  eyes  rested  on  his  face.  It  was  seldom  that  she 
felt  drawn  to  exclamation.  She  was  usually  too 
indolent  to  show  surprise.  But  now  the  feeling  was 
called  forth  before  she  was  aware. 

J92 


THE    MASQUhRADER 

Chilcote  looked  up.  "What's  extraordinary?"  he 
said,  sensitively. 

She  leaned  forward  for  an  instant  and  touched  his 
hand. 

"Bear  I"  she  said,  teasingly.  "Did  I  rub  your  fur 
the  wrong  way  ?"  Then,  seeing  his  expression,  she  tact- 
fully changed  her  tone.  "I'll  explain.  It  was  the  same 
thing  that  struck  me  the  night  of  Blanche's  party — 
when  you  looked  at  me  over  Leonard  Kaine's  head. 
You  remember?"  She  glanced  away  from  him  across 
the  Park  to  where  the  grass  was  already  showing  greener. 

Chilcote  felt  ill  at  ease.  Again  he  put  his  hand  to 
his  coat  collar. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  said,  hastily — "  yes."  He  wished  now 
that  he  had  questioned  Loder  more  closely  on  the 
proceedings  of  that  party.  It  seemed  to  him,  on 
looking  back,  that  Loder  had  mentioned  nothing  on 
the  day  of  their  last  exchange  but  the  political  com- 
plications that  absorbed  his  mind. 

"I  couldn't  explain  then,"  Lillian  went  on.  "I 
couldn't  explain  before  a  crowd  of  people  that  it 
wasn't  your  dark  head  showing  over  Leonard's  red 
one  that  surprised  me,  but  the  most  wonderful,  the 
most  extraordinary  likeness — "     She  paused. 

The  car  was  moving  slower;  there  was  a  delight  in 
the  easy  motion  through  the  fresh,  early  air.  But  Chil- 
cote's  uneasiness  had  been  aroused.  He  no  longer  felt 
soothed. 

"What  likeness?"  he  asked,  sharply. 

She  turned  to  him  easily.  "Oh,  a  likeness  I  have 
noticed  before,"  she  said.  "A  likeness  that  always 
seemed  strange,  but  that  suddenly  became  incredible 
at  Blanche's  party." 

J93 


THE    MASQUERADER 

He  moved  quickly.  "Likenesses  are  an  illusion," 
he  said,  "  a  mere  imagination  of  the  brain !"  His  man- 
ner was  short;  his  annoyance  seemingly  out  of  all  pro- 
portion to  its  cause.  Lillian  looked  at  him  afresh  in 
slightly  interested  surprise. 

"Yet  not  so  very  long  ago,  you  yourself — "  she 
began. 

" Nonsense!" he  broke  in.  "I've  always  denied  like- 
nesses. Such  things  don't  really  exist.  Likeness-see- 
ing is  purely  an  individual  matter — a  preconception." 
He  spoke  fast;  he  was  uneasy  under  the  cool  scrutiny 
of  her  green  eyes.  And  with  a  sharp  attempt  at  self- 
control  and  reassurance  he  altered  his  voice.  "After 
all,  we're  being  very  stupid!"  he  exclaimed.  "We're 
worrying  over  something  that  doesn't  exist." 

Lillian  was  still  lazily  interested.  To  her  own  belief, 
she  had  seen  Chilcote  last  on  the  night  of  her  sister's 
reception.  Then  she  had  been  too  preoccupied  to 
notice  either  his  manner  or  his  health,  though  super- 
ficially it  had  lingered  in  her  mind  that  he  had  seemed 
unusually  reliant,  unusually  well  on  that  night.  A 
remembrance  of  the  impression  came  to  her  now  as  she 
studied  his  face,  upon  which  imperceptibly  and  yet 
relentlessly  his  vice  was  setting  its  mark  —  in  the 
dull  restlessness  of  eye,  the  unhealthy  sallowness  of 
skin. 

Some  shred  of  her  thought,  some  suggestion  of  the 
comparison  running  through  her  mind,  must  have 
shown  in  her  face,  for  Chilcote  altered  his  position  with 
a  touch  of  uneasiness.  He  glanced  away  across  the 
long  sweep  of  tan-covered  drive  stretching  between  the 
trees ;  then  he  glanced  furtively  back. 

" By-the-way,"  he  said,  quickly,  "you  wanted  me 

194 


THE   MASQUERADER 

for  something  ?"  The  memory  of  her  earlier  suggestion 
came  as  a  sudden  boon. 

She  lifted  her  muff  again  and  smelled  her  roses 
thoughtfully.  "Oh,  it  was  nothing,  really,"  she  said. 
' '  You  sarcastic  people  give  very  shrewd  suggestions 
sometimes,  and  I've  been  rather  wanting  a  suggestion 
on  an  —  an  adventure  that  I've  had."  She  looked 
down  at  her  flowers  with  a  charmingly  attentive  air. 

But  Chilcote's  restlessness  had  increased.  Looking 
up,  she  suddenly  caught  the  expression,  and  her  own 
face  changed. 

"My  dear  Jack,"  she  said,  softly,  "what  a  bore  I  am! 
Let's  forget  tedious  things  —  and  enjoy  ourselves." 
She  leaned  towards  him  caressingly  with  an  air  of 
concern  and  reproach. 

The  action  was  not  without  effect.  Her  soothing 
voice,  her  smile,  her  almost  affectionate  gesture,  each 
carried  weight.  With  a  swift  return  of  assurance  he 
responded  to  her  tone. 

"Right!"  he  said.  "Right!  We  will  enjoy  our- 
selves!" He  laughed  quickly,  and  again  with  a  con- 
scious movement  lifted  his  hand  to  his  muffler. 

"Then  we'll  postpone  the  advice?"  Lillian  laughed, 
too. 

"Yes.  Right!  We'll  postpone  it."  The  word 
pleased  him  and  he  caught  at  it.  "We  won't  bother 
about  it  now,  but  we  won't  shelve  it  altogether.  We'll 
postpone  it." 

"Exactly."  She  settled  herself  more  comfortably. 
"You'll  dine  with  me  one  night — and  we  can  talk  it  out 
then.  I  see  so  little  of  you  nowadays,"  she  added,  in  a 
lower  voice. 

"My  dear  girl,  you're  unfair!"     Chilcote's  spirits 

i9S 


THE    MASQUERADER 

had  risen;  he  spoke  rapidly,  almost  pleasantly.  ;'It 
isn't  I  who  keep  away — it's  the  stupid  affairs  of  the 
world  that  keep  me.  I'd  be  with  you  every  hour  of 
the  twelve  if  I  had  my  way." 

She  looked  up  at  the  bare  trees.  Her  expression  was 
a  delightful  mixture  of  amusement,  satisfaction,  and 
scepticism.     "Then  you  will  dine ?"  she  said  at  last. 

"Certainly."  His  reaction  to  high  spirits  carried 
him  forward. 

"How  nice!     Shall  we  fix  a  day?" 

"A  day?  Yes.  Yes  —  if  you  like."  He  hesitated 
for  an  instant,  then  again  the  impulse  of  the  previous 
moment  dominated  his  other  feeling.  "Yes,"  he  said, 
quickly.  "Yes.  After  all,  why  not  fix  it  now?" 
With  a  sudden  inclination  towards  amiability  he  open- 
ed his  overcoat,  thrust  his  hand  into  an  inner  pocket, 
and  drew  out  his  engagement-book — the  same  long,  nar- 
row book  fitted  with  two  pencils  that  Loder  had  scan- 
ned so  interestedly  on  his  first  morning  at  Grosvenor 
Square.  He  opened  it,  turning  the  pages  rapidly. 
"What  day  shall  it  be?  Thursday's  full— and  Friday 
—and  Saturday.     What  a  bore!"     He  still  talked  fast. 

Lillian  leaned  across.  "What  a  sweet  book!"  she 
said.  "  But  why  the  blue  crosses  ?"  She  touched  one 
of  the  pages  with  her  gloved  finger. 

Chilcote  jerked  the  book,  then  laughed  with  a  touch 
of  embarrassment.  "Oh,  the  crosses?  Merely  to 
remind  me  that  certain  appointments  must  be  kept. 
You  know  my  beastly  memory!  But  what  about 
the  day?  Shall  we  fix  the  day?"  His  voice  was  in 
control,  but  mentally  her  trivial  question  had  dis- 
turbed and  jarred  him.  "  What  day  shall  we  say  ?"  he 
repeated.     "Monday  in  next  week?" 

196 


THE   MASQUERADER 

Lillian  glanced  up  with  a  faint  exclamation  of  dis- 
appointment. "How  horribly  far  away!"  She  spoke 
with  engaging  petulance,  and,  leaning  forward  afresh, 
drew  the  hook  from  Chilcote's  hand.  'What  about 
to-morrow?"  she  exclaimed,  turning  back  a  page. 
"Why  not  to-morrow?     I  knew  I  saw  a  blank  space." 

"To-morrow!     Oh,  I— I—"     He  stopped. 

"Jack!"  Her  voice  dropped.  It  was  true  that 
she  desired  Chilcote's  opinion  on  her  adventure,  for 
Chilcote's  opinion  on  men  and  manners  had  a  certain 
bitter  shrewdness;  but  the  exercise  of  her  own  power 
added  a  point  to  the  desire.  If  the  matter  had  ended 
with  the  gain  or  loss  of  a  tete-a-tete  with  him,  it  is 
probable  that,  whatever  its  utility,  she  would  not  have 
pressed  it,  but  the  underlying  motive  was  the  stronger. 
Chilcote  had  been  a  satellite  for  years,  and  it  was  un- 
pleasant that  any  satellite  should  drop  away  into 
space. 

"Jack!"  she  said  again,  in  a  lower  and  still  more 
effective  tone;  and,  lifting  her  muff,  she  buried  her  face 
in  her  flowers.  "  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  dine  and  go 
to  a  music-hall  with  Leonard  —  or  stay  at  home  by 
myself,"  she  murmured,  looking  out  across  the  trees. 

Again  Chilcote  glanced  over  the  long,  tan-strewn 
ride.     They  had  made  the  full  circuit  of  the  park. 

"It's  tiresome  being  by  one's  self,"  she  murmured. 

For  a  while  he  was  irresponsive,  then  slowly  his  eyes 
returned  to  her  face.  He  watched  her  for  a  second, 
and,  leaning  quickly  towards  her,  he  took  his  book  and 
scribbled  something  in  the  vacant  space. 

She  watched  him  interestedly;  her  face  lighted  up, 
and  she  laid  aside  her  muff. 

"Dear  Jack!"  she  said.     "How  very  sweet  of  you!" 

197 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Then,  as  he  held  the  book  towards  her,  her  face  fell. 
"Dine  33  Cadogan  Gardens,  8  o'c.  Talk  with  L.,"  she 
read.     "Why,  you've  forgotten  the  essential  thing!" 

He  looked  up.     "The  essential  thing ?" 

She  smiled.  "The  blue  cross,"  she  said.  "Isn't 
it  worth  even  a  little  one  ?" 

The  tone  was  very  soft.     Chilcote  yielded. 

'You  have  the  blue  pencil,"  he  said,  in  sudden 
response  to  her  mood. 

She  glanced  up  in  quiet  pleasure  at  her  success,  and, 
with  a  charming  affectation  of  seriousness,  marked  the 
engagement  with  a  big  cross.  At  the  same  moment  the 
car  slackened  speed,  as  the  chauffeur  waited  for  further 
orders. 

Lillian  shut  the  engagement-book  and  handed  it 
back.  "  Where  can  I  drop  you ?"  she  asked.  "At  the 
club?" 

The  question  recalled  him  to  a  sense  of  present  things. 
He  thrust  the  book  into  his  pocket  and  glanced  about 
him. 

They  had  paused  by  Hyde  Park  corner.  The  crowd 
of  horses  and  carriages  had  thinned  as  the  hour  of 
lunch  drew  near,  and  the  wide  roadway  of  the  park  had 
an  air  of  added  space.  The  suggested  loneliness  af- 
fected him.  The  tall  trees,  still  bereft  of  leaves,  and 
the  colossal  gateway  incomprehensiveiy  stirred  the 
sense  of  mental  panic  that  sometimes  seized  him  in  face 
of  vastness  of  space  or  of  architecture.  In  one  mo- 
ment, Lillian,  the  appointment  he  had  just  made,  the 
manner  of  its  making— all  left  him.  The  world  was 
filled  with  his  own  personality,  his  own  immediate 
inclinations. 

"Don't  bother  about  me!"  he  said,  quickly.     "I  can 

iq8 


THE    MASQUERADER 

get  out  here.  You've  been  very  good.  It's  been  a 
delightful  morning."  With  a  hurried  pressure  of  her 
fingers  he  rose  and  stepped  from  the  car. 

Reaching  the  ground,  he  paused  for  a  moment  and 
raised  his  hat;  then,  without  a  second  glance,  he  turned 
and  walked  rapidly  away. 

Lillian  sat  watching  him  meditatively.  She  saw 
him  pass  through  the  gateway,  saw  him  hail  a  hansom; 
then  she  remembered  the  waiting  chauffeur. 


XXI 

ON  the  same  day  that  Chilcote  had  parted  with 
Lillian — but  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon — 
Loder,  dressed  in  Chilcote 's  clothes  and  with  Chilcote 's 
heavy  overcoat  slung  over  his  arm,  walked  from  Fleet 
Street  to  Grosvenor  Square.  He  walked  steadily, 
neither  slowly  nor  yet  fast.  The  elation  of  his  last 
journey  over  the  same  ground  was  tempered  by  feelings 
lie  could  not  satisfactorily  bracket  even  to  himself. 
There  was  less  of  vehement  elation  and  more  of  matured 
determination  in  his  gait  and  bearing  than  there  had 
been  on  that  night,  though  the  incidents  of  which  they 
were  the  outcome  were  very  complex. 

On  reaching  Chilcote's  house  he  passed  up-stairs; 
but,  still  following  the  routine  of  his  previous  return, 
he  did  not  halt  at  Chilcote's  door,  but  moved  onward 
towards  Eve's  sitting-room  and  there  paused. 

In  that  pause  his  numberless  irregular  thoughts 
fused  into  one. 

He  had  the  same  undefined  sense  of  standing  upon 
sacred  ground  that  had  touched  him  on  the  previous 
occasion,  but  the  outcome  of  the  sensation  was  dif- 
ferent. This  time  he  raised  his  hand  almost  im- 
mediately and  tapped  on  the  door. 

He  waited,  but  no  voice  responded  to  his  knock. 
With  a  sense  of  disappointment  he  knocked  again; 
then,  pressing  his  determination  still  further,  he  turned 
the  handle  and  entered  the  room. 

200 


THE    MASQUERADER 

No  private  room  is  without  meaning — whether  trivial 
or  the  reverse.  In  a  room,  perhaps  more  even  than  in 
speech,  in  look,  or  in  work,  does  the  impress  of  the 
individual  make  itself  felt.  There,  on  the  wax  of 
outer  things,  the  inner  self  imprints  its  seal — enforces 
its  fleeting  claim  to  separate  individuality.  This 
thought,  with  its  arresting  interest,  made  Loder  walk 
slowly,  almost  seriously,  half-way  across  the  room  and 
then  pause  to  study  his  surroundings. 

The  room  was  of  medium  size — not  too  large  for 
comfort  and  not  too  small  for  ample  space.  At  a  first 
impression  it  struck  him  as  unlike  any  anticipation  of  a 
woman's  sanctum.  The  walls  panelled  in  dark  wood; 
the  richly  bound  books;  the  beautifully  designed 
bronze  ornaments;  even  the  flowers,  deep  crimson  and 
violet-blue  in  tone,  had  an  air  of  sombre  harmony  that 
was  scarcely  feminine.  With  a  strangely  pleasant 
impression  he  realized  this,  and,  following  his  habitual 
impulse,  moved  slowly  forward  towards  the  fireplace 
and  there  paused,  his  elbow  resting  on  the  mantel-piece. 

He  had  scarcely  settled  comfortably  into  his  position, 
scarcely  entered  on  his  second  and  more  compre- 
hensive study  of  the  place,  than  the  arrangement  of  his 
mind  was  altered  by  the  turning  of  the  handle  and  the 
opening  of  the  door. 

The  new-comer  was  Eve  herself.  She  was  dressed  in 
outdoor  clothes,  and  walked  into  the  room  quickly; 
then,  as  Loder  had  done,  she  too  paused. 

The  gesture,  so  natural  and  spontaneous,  had  a 
peculiar  attraction;  as  she  glanced  up  at  him,  her  face 
alight  with  inquiry,  she  seemed  extraordinarily  much 
the  owner  and  designer  of  her  surroundings.  She  was 
framed  by  them  as  naturally  and  effectively  as  her  eyes 
14  201 


THE    MASQUERADHR 

and  her  face  were  framed  by  her  black  hair.  For 
one  moment  he  forgot  that  his  presence  demanded  ex- 
planation; the  next  she  had  made  explanation  needless. 
She  had  been  looking  at  him  intently;  now  she  came 
forward  slowly. 

"John?"  she  said,  half  in  appeal,  half  in  question. 

He  took  a  step  towards  her.  "Look  at  me,"  he 
said,  quietly  and  involuntarily.  In  the  sharp  desire 
to  establish  himself  in  her  regard  he  forgot  that  her 
eyes  had  never  left  his  face. 

But  the  incongruity  of  the  words  did  not  strike  her. 
"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  "I — I  believe  I  knew,  directly 
I  saw  you  here."  The  quick  ring  of  life  vibrating  in 
her  tone  surprised  him.  But  he  had  other  thoughts 
more  urgent  than  surprise. 

In  the  five  days  of  banishment  just  lived  through, 
the  need  for  a  readjustment  of  his  position  with  regard 
to  her  had  come  to  him  forcibly.  The  memory  of  the 
night  when  weakness  and  he  had  been  at  perilously 
close  quarters  had  returned  to  him  persistently  and  un- 
comfortably, spoiling  the  remembrance  of  his  triumph. 
It  had  been  well  enough  to  smother  the  thought  of  that 
night  in  days  of  work.  But  had  the  ignoring  of  it 
blotted  out  the  weakness?  Had  it  not  rather  thrown 
it  into  bolder  relief  ?  A  man  strong  in  his  own  strength 
does  not  turn  his  back  upon  temptation;  he  faces  and 
quells  it.  In  the  solitary  days  in  Clifford's  Inn,  in 
the  solitary  night -hours  spent  in  tramping  the  city 
streets,  this  had  been  the  conviction  that  had  recurred 
again  and  again,  this  the  problem  to  which,  after  much 
consideration,  he  had  found  a  solution — satisfactory 
at  least  to  himself.  When  next  Chilcote  called  him — 
It  was  notable  that  he  had  used  the  word  "when" 

202 


THE    MASQUERADER 

and  not  "if."*  When  next  Chilcote  called  him  he 
would  make  a  new  departure.  He  would  no  longer 
avoid  Eve;  he  would  successfully  prove  to  himself  that 
one  interest  and  one  alone  filled  his  mind — the  pur- 
suance of  Chilcote's  political  career.  So  does  man 
satisfactorily  convince  himself  against  himself.  He 
had  this  intention  fully  in  mind  as  he  came  forward 
now. 

'Well,"  he  said,  slowly,  "has  it  been  very  hard  to 
have  faith — these  last  five  days  ?"  It  was  not  precisely 
the  tone  he  had  meant  to  adopt;  but  one  must  begin. 

Eve  turned  at  his  words.  Her  eyes  were  brimming 
with  life,  her  cheeks  still  touched  to  a  deep,  soft  color 
by  the  keenness  of  the  wintry  air. 

"No,"  she  answered,  with  a  shy,  responsive  touch  of 
confidence.  "I  seemed  to  keep  on  believing.  You 
know  converts  make  the  best  devotees."  She  laughed 
with  slight  embarrassment,  and  glanced  up  at  him. 
Something  in  the  blue  of  her  eyes  reminded  him  unex- 
pectedly of  spring  skies — full  of  youth  and  promise. 

He  moved  abruptly,  and  crossed  the  room  towards 
the  window.  "Eve,"  he  said,  without  looking  round, 
"I  want  your  help." 

He  heard  the  faint  rustling  of  her  dress  as  she 
turned  towards  him,  and  he  knew  that  he  had  struck 
the  right  chord.  All  true  women  respond  to  an  appeal 
for  aid  as  steel  answers  to  the  magnet.  He  could  feel 
her  expectancy  in  the  silence. 

'  You  know — we  all  know — that  the  present  moment 
is  very  vital.  That  it's  impossible  to  deny  the  crisis 
in  the  air.  Nobody  feels  it  more  than  I  do — nobody 
is  more  exorbitantly  keen  to  have  a  share — a  part, 
when  the  real  fight  comes — "     He  stopped;  then  he 

203 


THE    MASQUERADER 

turned  slowly  and  their  eyes  met.  "If  a  man  is  to 
succeed  in  such  a  desire,"  he  went  on,  deliberately, 
"he  must  exclude  all  others — he  must  have  one 
purpose,  one  interest,  one  thought.  He  must  forget 
that—" 

Eve  lifted  her  head  quickly.  " — that  he  has  a 
wife,"  she  finished,  gently.     "I  think  I  understand." 

There  was  no  annoyance  in  her  face  or  voice,  no 
suggestion  of  selfishness  or  of  hurt  vanity.  She  had 
read  his  meaning  with  disconcerting  clearness,  and 
responded  with  disconcerting  generosity.  A  sudden 
and  very  human  dissatisfaction  with  his  readjustment 
scheme  fell  upon  Loder.  Opposition  is  the  whip  to 
action;  a  too-ready  acquiescence  the  slackened  rein. 

"  Did  I  say  that  ?"  he  asked,  quickly.  The  tone  was 
almost  Chilcote's. 

She  glanced  up;  then  a  sudden,  incomprehensible 
smile  lighted  up  her  face. 

"You  didn't  say,  but  you  thought,"  she  answered, 
gravely.  'Thoughts  are  the  same  as  words  to  a 
woman.  That's  why  we  are  so  unreasonable."  Again 
she  smiled.  Some  idea,  baffling  and  incomprehensible 
to  Loder,  was  stirring  in  her  mind. 

Conscious  of  the  impression,  he  moved  still  nearer. 
"  You  jump  to  conclusions,"  he  said,  abruptly.  "  What 
I  meant  to  imply — " 

" — was  precisely  what  I've  understood."  Again 
she  finished  his  sentence.  Then  she  laughed  softly. 
"  How  very  wise,  but  how  very,  very  foolish  men  are! 
You  come  to  the  conclusion  that  because  a  woman  is — 
is  interested  in  you  she  is  going  to  hamper  you  in 
some  direction,  and  after  infinite  pains  you  summon  all 
your  tact  and  you  set  about  saving  the  situation." 

204 


THE    MASQUERADER 

There  was  interest,  even  a  touch  of  amusement,  in  her 
tone,  her  eyes  were  still  fixed  upon  his  in  an  indefinable 
glance.  "You  think  you  are  being  very  diplomatic," 
she  went  on,  quietly,  "but  in  reality  you  are  being  very 
transparent.  The  woman  reads  the  whole  of  your 
meaning  in  your  very  first  sentence  —  if  she  hasn't 
known  it  before  you  began  to  speak." 

Again  Loder  made  an  interruption,  but  again  she 
checked  him. 

"No,"  she  said,  still  smiling.  "You  should  never 
attempt  such  a  task.     Shall  I  tell  you  why?" 

He  stood  silent,  puzzled  and  interested. 

" Because,"  she  said,  quickly,  "when  a  woman  really 
is — interested,  the  man's  career  ranks  infinitely  higher 
in  her  eyes  than  any  personal  desire  for  power." 

For  a  moment  their  eyes  met,  then  abruptly  Loder 
looked  away.  She  had  gauged  his  intentions  incor- 
rectly, yet  with  disconcerting  insight.  Again  the  sug- 
gestion of  an  unusual  personality  below  the  serenity  of 
her  manner  recurred  to  his  imagination. 

With  an  impulse  altogether  foreign  to  him  he  lifted 
his  head  and  again  met  her  glance.  Then  at  last  he 
spoke,  but  only  two  words.  "  Forgive  me!"  he  said, 
with  simple,  direct  sincerity. 


XXII 

AFTER  his  interview  with  Eve,  Loder  retired  to 
i  the  study  and  spent  the  remaining  hours  of  the 
day  and  the  whole  span  of  the  evening  in  work.  At  one 
o'clock,  still  feeling  fresh  in  mind  and  body,  he  dis- 
missed Greening  and  passed  into  Chilcote's  bedroom. 
The  interview  with  Eve,  though  widely  different  from 
the  one  he  had  anticipated,  had  left  him  stimulated  and 
alert.  In  the  hours  that  followed  it  there  had  been  an 
added  anxiety  to  put  his  mind  into  harness,  an  added 
gratification  in  finding  it  answer  to  the  rein. 

A  pleasant  sense  of  retrospection  settled  upon  him 
as  he  slowly  undressed ;  and  a  pleasant  sense  of  inter- 
est touched  him  as,  crossing  to  the  dressing-table,  he 
caught  sight  of  Chilcote's  engagement  -  book  —  taken 
with  other  things  from  the  suit  he  had  changed  at 
dinner-time  and  carefully  laid  aside  by  Renwick. 

He  picked  it  up  and  slowly  turned  the  pages.  It 
always  held  the  suggestion  of  a  lottery — this  dipping 
into  another  man's  engagements  and  drawing  a  prize 
or  a  blank.  It  was  a  sensation  that  even  custom  had 
not  dulled. 

At  first  he  turned  the  pages  slowly,  then  by  degrees 
his  fingers  quickened.  Beyond  the  fact  that  this 
present  evening  was  free,  he  knew  nothing  of  his 
promised  movements.  The  abruptness  of  Chilcote's 
arrival  at  Clifford's  Inn  in  the  afternoon  had  left  no 

206 


THE    MASQUERADER 

time  for  superfluous  questions.  He  skimmed  the 
writing  with  a  touch  of  interested  haste,  then  all  at 
once  he  paused  and  smiled. 

"Big  enough  for  a  tombstone!"  he  said  below  his 
breath  as  his  eyes  rested  on  a  large  blue  cross.  Then 
he  smiled  again  and  held  the  book  to  the  light. 

"Dine  33  Cadogan  Gardens,  8  o'c.  Talk  with  L," 
he  read,  still  speaking  softly  to  himself. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  pondering  on  the  entry,  then 
once  more  his  glance  reverted  to  the  cross. 

"Evidently  meant  it  to  be  seen,"  he  mused;  "but 
why  the  deuce  isn't  he  more  explicit  ?"  As  he  spoke,  a 
look  of  comprehension  suddenly  crossed  his  face  and 
the  puzzled  frown  between  his  eyebrows  cleared  away. 

With  a  feeling  of  satisfaction  he  remembered  Lake- 
ly's  frequent  and  pressing  suggestion  that  he  should 
dine  with  him  at  Cadogan  Gardens  and  discuss  the 
political  outlook. 

Lakely  must  have  written  during  his  absence,  and 
Chilcote,  having  marked  the  engagement,  felt  no 
further  responsibility.  The  invitation  could  scarcely 
have  been  verbal,  as  Chilcote,  he  knew,  had  lain  very 
low  in  the  five  days  of  his  return  home. 

So  he  argued,  as  he  stood  with  the  book  still  open 
in  his  hands,  the  blue  cross  staring  imperatively  from 
the  white  paper.  And  from  the  argument  rose 
thoughts  and  suggestions  that  seethed  in  his  mind 
long  after  the  lights  had  been  switched  off,  long  after 
the  fire  had  died  down  and  he  had  been  left  wrapped  in 
darkness  in  the  great  canopied  bed. 

And  so  it  came  about  that  he  took  his  second  false 
step.  Once  during  the  press  of  the  next  morning's 
work  it  crossed  his  mind  to  verify  his  convictions  by 

207 


THE    MASQUERADER 

a  glance  at  the  directory.  But  for  once  the  strong 
wish  that  evolves  a  thought  conquered  his  caution. 
His  work  was  absorbing;  the  need  of  verification 
seemed  very  small.     He  let  the  suggestion  pass. 

At  seven  o'clock  he  dressed  carefully.  His  mind  was 
full  of  Lakely  and  of  the  possibilities  the  night  might 
hold;  for  more  than  once  before,  the  weight  of  the  St. 
George's  Gazette,  with  Lakely  at  its  back,  had  turned 
the  political  scales.  To  be  marked  by  him  as  a  coming 
man  was  at  any  time  a  favorable  portent;  to  be  singled 
out  by  him  at  the  present  juncture  was  momentous. 
A  thrill  of  expectancy,  almost  of  excitement,  passed 
through  him  as  he  surveyed  his  appearance  prepara- 
tory to  leaving  the  house. 

Passing  down-stairs,  he  moved  at  once  to  the  hall 
door;  but  almost  as  his  hand  touched  it  he  halted, 
attracted  by  a  movement  on  the  landing  above  him. 
Turning,  he  saw  Eve. 

She  was  standing  quite  still,  looking  down  upon  him 
as  she  had  looked  once  before.  As  their  eyes  met,  she 
changed  her  position  hastily. 

"You  are  going  out?"  she  asked.  And  it  struck 
Loder  quickly  that  there  was  a  suggestion,  a  shadow 
of  disappointment  in  the  tone  of  her  voice.  Moved  by 
the  impression,  he  responded  with  unusual  promptness. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "I'm  dining  out — dining  with 
Lakely." 

She  watched  him  intently  while  he  spoke;  then,  as 
the  meaning  of  his  words  reached  her,  her  whole  face 
brightened. 

"With  Mr.  Lakely?"  she  said.  "Oh,  I'm  glad- 
very  glad.  It  is  quite — quite  another  step."  She 
smiled  with  a  warm,  impulsive  touch  of  sympathy. 

208 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Loder,  looking  up  at  her,  felt  his  senses  stir.  At 
sound  of  her  words  his  secret  craving  for  success  quick- 
ened to  stronger  life.  The  man  whose  sole  incentive 
lies  within  may  go  forward  coldly  and  successfully; 
but  the  man  who  grasps  a  double  inspiration,  who,  even 
unconsciously,  is  impelled  by  another  force,  has  a 
stronger  impetus  for  attack,  a  surer,  more  vital  hewing 
power.     Still  watching  her,  he  answered  instinctively: 

"Yes,"  he  said,  slowly,  "a  long  step."  And,  with 
a  smile  of  farewell,  he  turned,  opened  the  door,  and 
passed  into  the  road. 

The  thrill  of  that  one  moment  was  still  warm  as  he 
reached  Cadogan  Gardens  and  mounted  the  steps  of 
No.  S3  — so  vitally  warm  that  he  paused  for  an 
instant  before  pressing  the  electric  bell.  Then  at  last, 
dominated  by  anticipation,  he  turned  and  raised  his 
hand. 

The  action  was  abrupt,  and  it  was  only  as  his 
fingers  pressed  the  bell  that  a  certain  unexpectedness, 
a  certain  want  of  suitability  in  the  aspect  of  the  house, 
struck  him.  The  door  was  white,  the  handle  and 
knocker  were  of  massive  silver.  The  first  seemed  a 
disappointing  index  of  Lakely's  private  taste,  the 
second  a  ridiculous  temptation  to  needy  humanity. 
He  looked  again  at  the  number  of  the  house,  but  it 
stared  back  at  him  convincingly.  Then  the  door 
opened. 

So  keen  was  his  sense  of  unfitness  that,  still  trying 
to  fuse  his  impression  of  Lakely  with  the  idea  of  silver 
door-fittings,  he  stepped  into  the  hall  without  the 
usual  preliminary  question.  Suddenly  realizing  the 
necessity,  he  turned  to  the  servant;  but  the  man 
forestalled  him: 

209 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"  Will  you  come  to  the  white  room,  sir  ?    And  may  I 

take  your  coat?'' 

The  smooth  certainty  of  the  man's  manner  surprised 
him.  It  held  another  savor  of  disappointment — 
seeming  as  little  in  keeping  with  the  keen,  business-like 
Lakely  as  did  the  house.  Still  struggling  with  his 
impression,  he  allowed  himself  to  be  relieved  of  his 
hat  and  coat  and  in  silence  ushered  up  the  shallow 
staircase. 

As  the  last  step  was  reached  it  came  to  him  again 
to  mention  his  host's  name;  but  simultaneously  with 
the  suggestion  the  servant  stepped  forward  with  a 
quick,  silent  movement  and  threw  open  a  door. 

"  Mr.  Chilcote!"  he  announced,  in  a  subdued,  discreet 
voice. 

Loder's  first  impression  was  of  a  room  that  seemed 
unusually  luxurious,  soft,  and  shadowed.  Then  all 
impression  of  inanimate  things  left  him  suddenly. 

For  the  fraction  of  a  second  he  stood  in  the  door-way, 
while  the  room  seemed  emptied  of  everything,  except  a 
figure  that  rose  slowly  from  a  couch  before  the  fire  at 
sound  of  Chilcote's  name;  then,  with  a  calmness  that 
to  himself  seemed  incredible,  he  moved  forward  into 
the  room. 

He  might,  of  course,  have  beaten  a  retreat  and 
obviated  many  things;  but  life  is  full  of  might-have- 
beens,  and  retreat  never  presents  itself  agreeably  to  a 
strong  man.  His  impulse  was  to  face  the  difficulty! 
and  he  acted  on  the  impulse. 

Lillian  had  risen  slowly;  and  as  he  neared  her  she 
held  out  her  hand. 

"Jack!"  she  exclaimed,  softly.  "How  sweet  of  you 
to  remember!" 

2IC 


THE    MASQUERADER 

The  voice  and  words  came  to  him  with  great  dis- 
tinctness, and  as  they  came  one  uncertainty  passed 
forever  from  his  mind — the  question  as  to  what  relation 
she  and  Chilcote  held  to  each  other.  With  the  realiza- 
tion came  the  thought  of  Eve,  and  in  the  midst  of  his 
own  difficulty  his  face  hardened. 

Lillian  ignored  the  coldness.  Taking  his  hand,  she 
smiled.  "You're  unusually  punctual,"  she  said.  "  But 
your  hands  are  cold.     Come  closer  to  the  fire." 

Loder  was  not  sensible  that  his  hands  were  cold,  but 
he  suffered  himself  to  be  drawn  forward. 

One  end  of  the  couch  was  in  firelight,  the  other 
in  shadow.  By  a  fortunate  arrangement  of  chance 
Lillian  selected  the  brighter  end  for  herself  and  offered 
the  other  to  her  guest.  With  a  quick  sense  of  respite 
he  accepted  it.  At  least  he  could  sit  secure  from 
detection  while  he  temporized  with  fate. 

For  a  moment  they  sat  silent,  then  Lillian  stirred. 
"Won't  you  smoke?"  she  asked. 

Everything  in  the  room  seemed  soft  and  enervating 
— the  subdued  glow  of  the  fire,  the  smell  of  roses  that 
hung  about  the  air,  and,  last  of  all,  Lillian's  slow,  sooth- 
ing voice.  With  a  sense  of  oppression  he  stiffened  his 
shoulders  and  sat  straighter  in  his  place. 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  don't  think  I  shall  smoke." 

She  moved  nearer  to  him.  "Dear  Jack,"  she  said, 
pleadingly,  "don't  say  you're  in  a  bad  mood.  Don't 
say  you  want  to  postpone  again."  She  looked  up  at 
him  and  laughed  a  little  in  mock  consternation. 

Loder  was  at  a  loss. 

Another  silence  followed,  while  Lillian  waited:  then 
she  frowned  suddenly  and  rose  from  the  couch.  Like 
many  indolent  people,  she  possessed  a  touch  of  ob- 

211 


THE    MASQUERADER 

stinacy;  and  now  that  her  triumph  over  Chilcote  was 
obtained,  now  that  she  had  vindicated  her  right  to 
command  him,  her  original  purpose  came  uppermost 
again.  Cold  or  interested,  indifferent  or  attentive,  she 
intended  to  make  use  of  him. 

She  moved  to  the  fire  and  stood  looking  down  into  it. 

"Jack,"  she  began,  gently,  "a  really  amazing  thing 
has  happened  to  me.  I  do  so  want  you  to  throw  some 
light." 

Loder  said  nothing. 

There  was  a  fresh  pause  while  she  softly  smoothed 
the  silk  embroidery  that  edged  her  gown.  Then  once 
more  she  looked  up  at  him. 

"Did  I  ever  tell  you,"  she  began,  "that  I  was  once 
in  a  railway  accident  on  a  funny  little  Italian  railway, 
centuries  before  I  met  you?"  She  laughed  softly; 
and  with  a  pretty  air  of  confidence  turned  from  the 
fire  and  resumed  her  seat. 

"  Astrupp  had  caught  a  fever  in  Florence,  and  I  was 
rushing  away  for  fear  of  the  infection,  when  our 
stupid  little  train  ran  off  the  rails  near  Pistoria  and 
smashed  itself  up.  Fortunately  we  were  within  half 
a  mile  of  a  village,  so  we  weren't  quite  bereft.  The 
village  was  impossibly  like  a  toy  village,  and  the 
accommodation  what  one  would  expect  in  a  Noah's 
Ark,  but  it  was  all  absolutely  picturesque.  I  put  up 
at  the  little  inn  with  my  maid  and  Ko  Ko — Ko  Ko 
was  such  a  sweet  dog — a  white  poodle.  I  was  tremen- 
dously keen  on  poodles  that  year."  She  stopped  and 
looked  thoughtfully  towards  the  fire. 

"  But  to  come  to  the  point  of  the  story,  Jack,  the  toy 
village  had  a  boy  doll!"  She  laughed  again.  "He 
was  an  Englishman — and  the  first  person  to  come  to 

212 


THE    MASQUERADER 

my  rescue  on  the  night  of  the  smash-up.  He  was 
staying  at  the  Noah's  Ark  inn;  and  after  that  first 
night  I  —  he  —  we  —  Oh,  Jack,  haven't  you  any 
imagination  ?"  Her  voice  sounded  petulant  and  sharp. 
The  man  who  is  indifferent  to  the  recital  of  an  old  love 
affair  implies  the  worst  kind  of  listener.  "I  believe 
you  aren't  interested,"  she  added,  in  another  and  more 
reproachful  tone. 

He  leaned  forward.  "You're  wrong  there,"  he  said, 
slowly.     "I'm  deeply  interested." 

She  glanced  at  him  again.  His  tone  reassured  her, 
but  his  words  left  her  uncertain;  Chilcote  was  rarely 
emphatic.  With  a  touch  of  hesitation  she  went  on 
with  her  tale : 

"As  I  told  you,  he  was  the  first  to  find  us — to  find 
me,  I  should  say,  for  my  stupid  maid  was  having 
hysterics  farther  up  the  line,  and  Ko  Ko  was  lost.  I 
remember  the  first  thing  I  did  was  to  send  him  in 
search  of  Ko  Ko — ■" 

Notwithstanding  his  position,  Loder  found  occasion 
to  smile.     "Did  he  succeed  ?"  he  said,  dryly. 

"Succeed?  Oh  yes,  he  succeeded."  She  also  smiled 
involuntarily.  "  Poor  Ko  Ko  was  stowed  away  under 
the  luggage-van;  and  after  quite  a  lot  of  trouble  he 
pulled  him  out.  When  it  was  all  done  the  dog  was 
quite  unhurt  and  livelier  than  ever,  but  the  English- 
man had  his  finger  almost  bitten  through.  Ko  Ko 
was  a  dear,  but  his  teeth  and  his  temper  were  both 
very  sharp!"  She  laughed  once  more  in  soft  amuse- 
ment. 

Loder  was  silent  for  a  second,  then  he  too  laughed — 
Chilcote's  short,  sarcastic  laugh.  "And  you  tied  up 
the  wound,  I  suppose?" 

213 


THE    MASQUERADER 

She  glanced  up,  half  displeased.  "We  were  both 
staying  at  the  little  inn,"  she  said,  as  though  no 
further  explanation  could  be  needed.  Then  again  her 
manner  changed.  She  moved  imperceptibly  nearer 
and  touched  his  right  hand.  His  left,  which  was 
farther  away  from  her,  was  well  in  the  shadow  of  the 
cushions. 

"Jack,"  she  said,  caressingly,  "it  isn't  to  tell  you 
this  stupid  old  story  that  I've  brought  you  here;  it's 
really  to  tell  you  a  sort  of  sequel."  She  stroked  his 
hand  gently  once  or  twice.  "As  I  say,  I  met  this  man 
and  we — we  had  an  affair.  You  understand  ?  Then 
we  quarrelled  —  quarrelled  quite  badly — and  I  came 
away.  I've  remembered  him  rather  longer  than  I 
remember  most  people — he  was  one  of  those  dogged 
individuals  who  stick  in  one's  mind.  But  he  has  stayed 
in  mine  for  another  reason — ■"  Again  she  looked  up. 
"  He  has  stayed  because  you  helped  to  keep  him  there. 
You  know  how  I  have  sometimes  put  my  hands  over 
your  mouth  and  told  you  that  your  eyes  reminded  me 
of  some  one  else?  Well,  that  some  one  else  was  my 
Englishman.  But  you  mustn't  be  jealous;  he  was  a 
horrid,  obstinate  person,  and  you — -well,  you  know 
what  I  think  of  you — "  She  pressed  his  hand.  "But 
to  come  to  the  end  of  the  story,  I  never  saw  this  man 
since  that  long-ago  time,  until  —  until  the  night  of 
Blanche's  party !"  She  spoke  slowly,  to  give  full 
effect  to  her  words;  then  she  waited  for  his  surprise. 

But  the  result  was  not  what  she  expected.  He  said 
nothing;  and,  with  an  abrupt  movement,  he  drew  his 
hand  from  between  hers. 

"Aren't  you  surprised?"  she  asked  at  last,  with  a 
delicate  note  of  reproof. 

214 


THE    MASQUERADER 

He  started  slightly,  as  if  recalled  to  the  necessity  of 
the  moment.  "Surprised?"  he  said.  "Why  should 
I  be  surprised  ?  One  person  more  or  less  at  a  big 
party  isn't  astonishing.  Besides,  you  expect  a  man 
to  turn  up  sooner  or  later  in  his  own  country.  Why 
should  I  be  surprised?" 

She  lay  back  luxuriously.  "  Because,  my  dear  boy," 
she  said,  softly,  "it's  a  mystery!  It's  one  of  those 
fascinating  mysteries  that  come  once  in  a  lifetime." 

Loder  made  no  movement.  "You  must  explain," 
he  said,  very  quietly. 

Lillian  smiled.  "That's  just  what  I  want  to  do. 
When  I  was  in  my  tent  on  the  night  of  Blanche's  party, 
a  man  came  to  be  gazed  for.  He  came  just  like  any- 
body else,  and  laid  his  hands  upon  the  table.  He  had 
strong,  thin  hands  like — well,  rather  like  yours  But 
he  wore  two  rings  on  the  third  finger  of  his  left  hand 
— a  heavy  signet-ring  and  a  plain  gold  one." 

Loder  moved  his  hand  imperceptibly  till  the  cushion 
covered  it.  Lillian's  words  caused  him  no  surprise, 
scarcely  even  any  trepidation.  He  felt  now  that  he  had 
expected  them,  even  waited  for  them,  all  along. 

"I  asked  him  to  take  off  his  rings,"  she  went  on, 
"and  just  for  a  second  he  hesitated — I  could  feel  him 
hesitate;  then  he  seemed  to  make  up  his  mind,  for  he 
drew  them  off.  He  drew  them  off,  Jack,  and  guess 
what  I  saw!     Do  guess!" 

For  the  first  time  Loder  involuntarily  drew  back 
into  his  corner  of  the  couch.  "  I  never  guess,"  he  said, 
brusquely. 

"Then  I'll  tell  you.  His  hands  were  the  hands  of 
my  Englishman!  The  rings  covered  the  scar  made 
by  Ko  Ko's  teeth.     I  knew  it  instantly — the  second 

2*5 


THE    MASQUERADER 

my  eyes  rested  on  it.  It  was  the  same  scar  that  I  had 
bound  up  dozens  of  times — that  I  had  seen  healed  be- 
fore I  left  Santasalare." 

"And  you?  What  did  you  do?"  Loder  felt  it 
singularly  difficult  and  unpleasant  to  speak. 

"Ah,  that's  the  point.  That's  where  I  was  stupid 
and  made  my  mistake.  I  should  have  spoken  to  him 
on  the  moment,  but  I  didn't.  You  know  how  one 
sometimes  hesitates.     Afterwards  it  was  too  late." 

"But  you  saw  him  afterwards  —  in  the  rooms?" 
Loder  spoke  unwillingly. 

"No,  I  didn't — that's  the  other  point.  I  didn't  see 
him  in  the  rooms,  and  I  haven't  seen  him  since. 
Directly  he  was  gone,  I  left  the  tent — I  pretended  to  be 
hungry  and  bored;  but,  though  I  went  through  every 
room,  he  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  Once — "  she 
hesitated  and  laughed  again — "once  I  thought  I  had 
found  him,  but  it  was  only  you — you,  as  you  stood  in 
that  door-way  with  your  mouth  and  chin  hidden  by 
Leonard  Kaine's  head.     Wasn't  it  a  quaint  mistake?" 

There  was  an  uncertain  pause.  Then  Loder,  feeling 
the  need  of  speech,  broke  the  silence  suddenly.  "Where 
do  I  come  in?"  he  asked  abruptly.  'What  am  I 
wanted  for?" 

"To  help  to  throw  light  on  the  mystery!  I've  seen 
Blanche's  list  of  people,  and  there  wasn't  a  man  I 
couldn't  place  —  no  outsider  ever  squeezes  through 
Blanche's  door.  I  have  questioned  Bobby  Blessington, 
but  he  can't  remember  who  came  to  the  tent  last. 
And  Bobby  was  supposed  to  have  kept  count!"  She 
spoke  in  deep  scorn ;  but  almost  immediately  the  scorn 
faded  and  she  smiled  again.  "  Now  that  I've  explain- 
ed, Jack,"  she  added,  "what  do  you  suggest?" 

216 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Then  for  the  first  time  Loder  knew  what  his  presence 
in  the  room  really  meant:  and  at  best  the  knowledge 
was  disconcerting.  It  is  not  every  day  that  a  man 
is  called  upon  to  unearth  himself. 

"Suggest?"  he  repeated,  blankly. 

"Yes.  I'd  rather  have  your  idea  of  the  affair  than 
anybody  else's.  You  are  so  dear  and  sarcastic  and 
keen  that  you  can't  help  getting  straight  at  the  middle 
of  a  fact." 

When  Lillian  wanted  anything  she  could  be  very 
sweet.  She  suddenly  dropped  her  half -petulant  tone-, 
she  suddenly  ceased  to  be  a  spoiled  child.  With  a 
perfectly  graceful  movement  she  drew  quite  close  to 
Loder  and  slid  gently  to  her  knees. 

This  is  an  attitude  that  few  women  can  safely  assume ; 
it  requires  all  the  attributes  of  youth,  suppleness,  and  a 
certain  buoyant  ease.  But  Lillian  never  acted  without 
justification,  and  as  she  leaned  towards  Loder  her 
face  lifted,  her  slight  figure  and  pale  hair  softened  by 
the  firelight,  she  made  a  picture  that  it  would  have  been 
difficult  to  criticise. 

But  the  person  who  should  have  appreciated  it  stared 
steadily  beyond  it  to  the  fire.  His  mind  was  absorbed 
by  one  question — the  question  of  how  he  might  reason- 
ably leave  the  house  before  discovery  became  assured. 

Lillian,  attentively  watchful  of  him,  saw  the  uneasy 
look,  and  her  own  face  fell.  But,  as  she  looked,  an 
inspiration  came  to  her — a  remembrance  of  many  inter- 
views with  Chilcote  smoothed  and  facilitated  by  the 
umely  use  of  tobacco. 

"Jack,"  she  said,  softly,  "before  you  say  another 
word   I   insist    on   your    lighting   a   cigarette."     She 
leaned  forward,  resting  against  his  knee. 
15  217 


THE    MASQUERADER 

At  her  words  Loder's  eyes  left  the  fire.  His  atten- 
tion was  suddenly  needed  for  a  new  and  more  im- 
minent difficulty.  "Thanks!"  he  said,  quickly.  "I— 
I  have  no  wish  to  smoke." 

"It  isn't  a  matter  of  what  you  wish  but  of  what  I 
say."  She  smiled.  She  knew  that  Chilcote  with  a 
cigarette  between  his  lips  was  infinitely  more  tractable 
chan  Chilcote  sitting  idle,  and  she  had  no  intention  of 
ignoring  the  knowledge. 

But  Loder  caught  at  her  words.  "Before  you 
ordered  me  to  smoke,"  he  said,  "you  told  me  to  give 
you  some  advice.  Your  first  command  must  have 
prior  claim."  He  grasped  unhesitatingly  at  the  less 
risky  theme. 

She  looked  up  at  him.  "You're  always  nicer  when 
you  smoke,"  she  persisted,  caressingly.  "Light  a 
cigarette — and  give  me  one." 

Loder's  mouth  became  set.     "No,"  he  said,  "we'll 
stick  to  this  advice  business.     It  interests  me." 
:  Yes — afterwards." 

!  No,  now.  You  want  to  find  out  why  this  English- 
man from  Italy  was  at  your  sister's  party,  and  why 
he  disappeared?" 

There  are  times  when  a  malignant  obstinacy  seems 
to  affect  certain  people.  The  only  answer  Lillian  made 
was  to  pass  her  hand  over  Loder's  waistcoat,  and, 
feeling  his  cigarette-case,  to  draw  it  from  the  pocket. 
He  affected  not  to  see  it.  "Do  you  think  he  rec- 
ognized you  in  that  tent?"  he  insisted,  desperately. 

She  held  out  the  case.     "Here  are  your  cigarettes. 

You  know  we're  always  more  social  when  we  smoke." 

In  the  short  interval  while  she  looked  up  into  his 

face  several  ideas  passed  through  Loder's  mind.     He 

2lS 


1: 
it 


LILLIAN     SLID    GENTLY    TO     HER    KNEES 


THE    MASQUERADER 

thought  of  standing  up  suddenly  and  so  regaining  his 
advantage;  he  wondered  quickly  whether  one  hand 
could  possibly  suffice  for  the  taking  out  and  lighting  of 
two  cigarettes.  Then  all  need  for  speculation  was 
pushed  suddenly  aside. 

Lillian,  looking  into  his  face,  saw  his  fresh  look  of 
disturbance,  and  from  long  experience  again  changed 
her  tactics.  Laying  the  cigarette-case  on  the  couch, 
she  put  one  hand  on  his  shoulder,  the  other  on  his 
left  arm.  Hundreds  of  times  this  caressing  touch 
had  quieted  Chilcote. 

"Dear  old  boy!"  she  said,  soothingly,  her  hand 
moving  slowly  down  his  arm. 

In  a  flash  of  understanding  the  consequences  of  thj£ 
position  came  to  him.  Action  was  imperative,  at 
whatever  risk.     With  an  abrupt  gesture  he  rose. 

The  movement  was  awkward.  He  got  to  his  feet 
precipitately;  Lillian  drew  back,  surprised  and  startled, 
catching  involuntarily  at  his  left  hand  to  steady  her 
position. 

Her  fingers  grasped  at,  then  held  his.  He  made  no 
effort  to  release  them.  With  a  dogged  acknowledg- 
ment, he  admitted  himself  worsted. 

How  long  she  stayed  immovable,  holding  his  hand, 
neither  of  them  knew.  The  process  of  a  woman's 
instinct  is  so  subtle,  so  obscure,  that  it  would  be  futile 
to  apply  to  it  the  commonplace  test  of  time.  She 
kept  her  hold  tenaciously,  as  though  his  fingers  pos- 
sessed some  peculiar  virtue;  then  at  last  she  spoke. 

"Rings,  Jack?"  she  said,  very  slowly.  And  under 
the  two  short  words  a  whole  world  of  incredulity  and 
surmise  made  itself  felt. 

Loder  laughed. 

219 


THE    MASQUERADER 

At  the  sound  she  dropped  his  hand  and  rose  from 
her  knees.  What  her  suspicions,  what  her  instincts 
were  she  could  not  have  clearly  defined,  but  her  action 
was  unhesitating.  Without  a  moment's  uncertainty 
she  turned  to  the  fireplace,  pressed  the  electric  button, 
and  flooded  the  room  with  light. 

There  is  no  force  so  demoralizing  as  unexpected 
light.  Loder  took  a  step  backward,  his  hand  hanging 
unguarded  by  his  side;  and  Lillian,  stepping  forward, 
caught  it  again  before  he  could  protest.  Lifting  it 
quickly,  she  looked  scrutinizingly  at  the  two  rings. 

All  women  jump  to  conclusions,  and  it  is  extraor- 
dinary how  seldom  they  jump  short.  Seeing  only 
what  Lillian  saw,  knowing  only  what  she  knew,  no 
man  would  have  staked  a  definite  opinion;  but  the 
other  sex  takes  a  different  view.  As  she  stood  gazing 
at  the  rings  her  thoughts  and  her  conclusions  sped 
through  her  mind  like  arrows — all  aimed  and  all  tend- 
ing towards  one  point.  She  remembered  the  day 
when  she  and  Chilcote  had  talked  of  doubles,  her 
scepticism  and  his  vehement  defence  of  the  idea;  his 
sudden  interest  in  the  book  Other  Men's  Shoes,  and  his 
anathema  against  life  and  its  irksome  round  of  duties. 
She  remembered  her  own  first  convinced  recognition 
of  the  eyes  that  had  looked  at  her  in  the  doorway  of  her 
sister's  house ;  and,  last  of  all,  she  remembered  Chilcote's 
unaccountable  avoidance  of  the  same  subject  of  like- 
nesses when  she  had  mentioned  it  yesterday  driving 
through  the  Park — and  with  it  his  unnecessarily  curt 
repudiation  of  his  former  opinions.  She  reviewed  each 
item,  then  she  raised  her  head  slowly  and  looked  at 
Loder. 

He  was  prepared  for  the  glance  and  met  it  steadily. 

220 


THE    MASQUERADER 

In  the  long  moment  that  her  eyes  searched  his  face  it 
was  she  and  not  he  who  changed  color.  She  was  the 
first  to  speak.  "You  were  the  man  whose  hands  I  saw 
in  the  tent,"  she  said.  She  made  the  statement  in 
her  usual  soft  tones,  but  a  slight  tremor  of  excitement 
underran  her  voice.  Poodles,  Persian  kittens,  even 
crystal  gazing-balls,  seemed  very  far  away  in  face  of 
this  tangible,  fabulous,  present  interest.  'You  are 
not  Jack  Chilcote,"  she  said,  very  slowly.  "You  are 
wearing  his  clothes,  and  speaking  in  his  voice  but  you 
are  not  Jack  Chilcote."  Her  tone  quickened  with  a 
touch  of  excitement.  "You  needn't  keep  silent  and 
look  at  me,"  she  said.  "  I  know  quite  well  what  I  am 
saying — though  I  don't  understand  it,  though  I  have 
no  real  proof — "  She  paused,  momentarily  discon- 
certed by  her  companion's  silent  and  steady  gaze,  and 
in  the  pause  a  curious  and  unexpected  thing  occurred. 

Loder  laughed  suddenly  —  a  full,  confident,  re- 
assured laugh.  All  the  web  that  the  past  half -hour  had 
spun  about  him,  all  the  intolerable  sense  of  an  im- 
pending crash,  lifted  suddenly.  He  saw  his  way  clear- 
ly— and  it  was  Lillian  who  had  opened  his  eyes. 

Still  looking  at  her,  he  smiled — a  smile  of  reliant  de- 
termination, such  as  Chilcote  had  never  worn  in  his 
life.     And  with  a  calm  gesture  he  released  his  hand. 

"The  greatest  charm  of  woman  is  her  imagination," 
he  said,  quietly.  "Without  it  there  would  be  no  color 
in  life;  we  would  come  into  and  drop  out  of  it  with  the 
same  uninteresting  tone  of  drab  reality."  He  paused 
and  smiled  again. 

At  his  smile,  Lillian  involuntarily  drew  back,  the 
color  deepening  in  her  cheeks.  "Why  do  you  say 
that?"  she  asked. 

221 


THE    MASQUERADER 

He  lifted  his  head.  With  each  moment  he  felt  more 
certain  of  himself.  "  Because  that  is  my  attitude,"  he 
said.  "As  a  man  I  admire  your  imagination,  but  as  a 
man  I  fail  to  follow  your  reasoning." 

The  words  and  the  tone  both  stung  her.  "Do  you 
realize  the  position?"  she  asked,  sharply.  "Do  you 
realize  that,  whatever  your  plans  are,  I  can  spoil 
them?" 

Loder  still  met  her  eyes.  "I  realize  nothing  of  the 
sort,"  he  said. 

"Then  you  admit  that  you  are  not  Jack  Chilcote?" 

"  I  neither  deny  nor  admit.  My  identity  is  obvious. 
I  can  get  twenty  men  to  swear  to  it  at  any  moment  that 
you  like.  The  fact  that  I  haven't  worn  rings  till  now 
will  scarcely  interest  them." 

"  But  you  do  admit — to  me,  that  you  are  not  Jack  ?" 

"I  deny  nothing — and  admit  nothing.  I  still  offer 
my  congratulations." 

"Upon  what?" 

"The  same  possession — your  imagination." 

Lillian  stamped  her  foot.  Then,  by  a  quick  effort, 
she  conquered  her  temper.  "Prove  me  to  be  wrong!" 
she  said,  with  a  fresh  touch  of  excitement.  "Take  off 
your  rings  and  let  me  see  your  hand." 

With  a  deliberate  gesture  Loder  put  his  hand  behind 
his  back.  "I  never  gratify  childish  curiosity,"  he  said, 
with  another  smile. 

Again  a  flash  of  temper  crossed  her  eyes.  "Are  you 
sure,"  she  said,  "that  it's  quite  wise  to  talk  like  that?" 

Loder  laughed  again.     "Is  that  a  threat?" 

"Perhaps." 

"Then  it's  an  empty  one." 

"Why?" 

222 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Before  replying  he  waited  a  moment,  looking  down 
at  her. 

"I  conclude,"  he  began,  quietly,  "that  your  idea  is 
to  spread  this  wild,  improbable  story — to  ask  people 
to  believe  that  John  Chilcote,  whom  they  see  before 
them,  is  not  John  Chilcote,  but  somebody  else.  Now 
you'll  find  that  a  harder  task  than  you  imagine.  This 
is  a  sceptical  world,  and  people  are  absurdly  fond  of 
their  own  eyesight.  We  are  all  journalists  nowadays 
— we  all  want  facts.  The  first  thing  you  will  be  asked 
for  is  your  proof.  And  what  does  your  proof  consist 
of?  The  circumstance  that  John  Chilcote,  who  has  al- 
ways despised  jewelry,  has  lately  taken  to  wearing 
rings!  Your  own  statement,  unattended  by  any  wit- 
nesses, that  with  those  rings  off  his  finger  bears  a 
scar  belonging  to  another  man!  No;  on  close  ex- 
amination I  scarcely  imagine  that  your  case  would 
hold."  He  stopped,  fired  by  his  own  logic.  The 
future  might  be  Chilcote's  but  the  present  was  his; 
and  this  present — with  its  immeasurable  possibilities — 
had  been  rescued  from  catastrophe.  "No,"  he  said, 
again.  "When  you  get  your  proof  perhaps  we'll  have 
another  talk;  but  till  then — " 

"Till  then?"  She  looked  up  quickly;  but  almost  at 
once  her  question  died  away. 

The  door  had  opened,  and  the  servant  who  h:  1 
admitted  Loder  stood  in  the  opening. 

"Dinner  is  served!"  he  announced,  in  his  deferential 
voice. 


XXIII 

AND  Loder  dined  with  Lillian  Astrupp.  We  live  in 
Lan  age  when  society  expects,  even  exacts,  much. 
He  dined,  not  through  bravado  and  not  through  cow- 
ardice, but  because  it  seemed  the  obvious,  the  only 
thing  to  do.  To  him  a  scene  of  any  description  was 
distasteful;  to  Lillian  it  was  unknown.  In  her  world 
people  loved  or  hated,  were  spiteful  or  foolish,  were 
even  quixotic  or  dishonorable,  but  they  seldom  made 
scenes.     Loder  tacitly  saw  and  tacitly  accepted  this. 

Possibly  they  ate  extremely  little  during  the  course 
of  the  dinner,  and  talked  extraordinarily  much  on 
subjects  that  interested  neither;  but  the  main  point 
at  least  was  gained.  They  dined.  The  conven- 
tionalities were  appeased;  the  silent,  watchful  servants 
who  waited  on  them  were  given  no  food  for  comment. 
The  fact  that  Loder  left  immediately  after  dinner,  the 
fact  that  he  paused  on  the  door-step  after  the  hall 
door  had  closed  behind  him,  and  drew  a  long,  deep 
breath  of  relief,  held  only  an  individual  significance 
and  therefore  did  not  count. 

On  reaching  Chilcote's  house  he  passed  at  once 
to  the  study  and  dismissed  Greening  for  the  night. 
But  scarcely  had  he  taken  advantage  of  his  solitude 
by  settling  into  an  arm-chair  and  lighting  a  cigar,  than 
Renwick,  displaying  an  unusual  amount  of  haste  and 
importance,  entered  the  room  carrying  a  letter. 

224 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Seeing  Loder,  he  came  forward  at  once.  "Mr. 
Fraide's  man  brought  this,  sir,"  he  explained.  "He 
was  most  particular  to  give  it  into  my  hands — making 
sure  'twould  reach  you.  He's  waiting  for  an  answer, 
sir. 

Loder  rose  and  took  the  letter,  a  quick  thrill  of 
speculation  and  interest  springing  across  his  mind. 
During  his  time  of  banishment  he  had  followed  the 
political  situation  with  feverish  attention,  insupporta- 
bly  chafed  by  the  desire  to  share  in  it,  apprehensively 
chilled  at  the  thought  of  Chilcote's  possible  behavior. 
He  knew  that  in  the  comparatively  short  interval  since 
Parliament  had  risen  no  act  of  aggression  had  marked 
the  Russian  occupation  of  Meshed,  but  he  also  knew 
that  Fraide  and  his  followers  looked  askance  at  that 
great  power's  amiable  attitude,  and  at  sight  of  his 
leader's  message  his  intuition  stirred. 

Turning  to  the  nearest  lamp,  he  tore  the  envelope 
open  and  scanned  the  letter  anxiously.  It  was  written 
in  Fraide's  own  clear,  somewhat  old-fashioned  writing, 
and  opened  with  a  kindly  rebuke  for  his  desertion  of 
him  since  the  day  of  his  speech;  then  immediately, 
and  with  characteristic  clearness,  it  opened  up  the 
subject  nearest  the  writer's  mind. 

Very  slowly  and  attentively  Loder  read  the  letter; 
and  with  the  extreme  quiet  that  with  him  invariably 
covered  emotion,  he  moved  to  the  desk,  wrote  a  note, 
and  handed  it  to  the  waiting  servant.  As  the  man 
turned  towards  the  door  he  called  him. 

"Renwick!"  he  said,  sharply,  "when  you've  given 
that  letter  to  Mr.  Fraide's  servant,  ask  Mrs.  Chilcote  if 
she  can  spare  me  five  minutes." 

When  Renwick  had  gone  and  closed  the  door  behind 

225 


THE    MASQUERADER 

him,  Loder  paced  the  room  with  feverish  activity.  In 
one  moment  the  aspect  of  life  had  been  changed. 
Five  minutes  since  he  had  been  glorying  in  the  risk 
of  a  barely  saved  situation;  now  that  situation  with  its 
merely  social  complications  had  become  a  matter  of 
small  importance. 

His  long,  striding  steps  had  carried  him  to  the  fire- 
place, and  his  back  was  towards  the  door  when  at 
last  the  handle  turned.  He  wheeled  round  to  receive 
Eve's  message;  then  a  look  of  pleased  surprise  crossed 
his  face.     It  was  Eve  herself  who  stood  in  the  doorway. 

Without  hesitation  his  lips  parted.  "  Eve,"  he  said, 
abruptly,  "  I  have  had  great  news!  Russia  has  shown 
her  teeth  at  last.  Two  caravans  belonging  to  a  Brit- 
ish trader  were  yesterday  interfered  with  by  a  band 
of  Cossacks.  The  affair  occurred  a  couple  of  miles 
outside  Meshed;  the  traders  remonstrated,  but  the 
Russians  made  summary  use  of  their  advantage. 
Two  Englishmen  were  wounded  and  one  of  them 
has  since  died.  Fraide  has  only  now  received  the 
news — which  cannot  be  overrated.  It  gives  the  precise 
lever  necessary  for  the  big  move  at  the  reassembling." 
He  spoke  with  great  earnestness  and  unusual  haste. 
As  he  finished  he  took  a  step  forward.  "But  that's 
not  all!"  he  added.  "Fraide  wants  the  great  move 
set  in  motion  by  a  great  speech — and  he  has  asked 
me  to  make  it." 

For  a  moment  Eve  waited.  She  looked  at  him  in 
silence;  and  in  that  silence  he  read  in  her  eyes  the 
reflection  of  his  own  expression. 

"And  you?"  she  asked,  in  a  suppressed  voice. 
"What  answer  did  you  give?" 

He  watched  her  for  an  instant,  taking  a  strange 

226 


THE    MASQUERADER 

pleasure  in  her  flushed  face  and  brilliantly  eager  eyes; 
then  the  joy  of  conscious  strength,  the  sense  of  op- 
portunity regained,  swept  all  other  considerations  out 
of  sight. 

"I  accepted,"  he  said,  quickly.     "Could  any  man 
who  was  merely  human  have  done  otherwise?" 

That  was  Loder's  attitude  and  action  on  the  night 
of  his  jeopardy  and  his  success,  and  the  following  day 
found  his  mood  unchanged.  He  was  one  of  those 
rare  individuals  who  never  give  a  promise  overnight 
and  regret  it  in  the  morning.  He  was  slow  to  move,  but 
when  he  did  the  movement  brushed  all  obstacles  aside. 
In  the  first  days  of  his  usurpation  he  had  gone  cautious- 
ly, half  fascinated,  half  distrustful;  then  the  real- 
ity, the  extraordinary  tangibility  of  the  position  had 
gripped  him  when,  matching  himself  for  the  first  time 
with  men  of  his  own  caliber,  he  had  learned  his  real 
weight  on  the  day  of  his  protest  against  the  Easter 
adjournment.  With  that  knowledge  had  been  born 
the  dominant  factor  in  his  whole  scheme — the  over- 
whelming, insistent  desire  to  manifest  his  power.  That 
desire  that  is  the  salvation  or  the  ruin  of  every  strong 
man  who  has  once  realized  his  strength.  Supremacy 
was  the  note  to  which  his  ambition  reached.  To 
trample  out  Chilcote's  footmarks  with  his  own  had 
been  his  tacit  instinct  from  the  first;  now  it  rose 
paramount.  It  was  the  whole  theory  of  creation — 
the  survival  of  the  fittest — the  deep,  egotistical  cer- 
tainty that  he  was  the  better  man. 

And  it  was  with  this  conviction  that  he  entered  on 
the  vital  period  of  his  dual  career.  The  imminent 
crisis,  and  his  own  share  in  it,  absorbed  him  absolutely. 

227 


THE    MASQUERADER 

In  the  weeks  that  followed  his  answer  to  Fraide's 
proposal  he  gave  himself  ungrudgingly  to  his  work. 
He  wrote,  read,  and  planned  with  tireless  energy; 
he  frequently  forgot  to  eat,  and  slept  only  through 
sheer  exhaustion;  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word  he 
lived  for  the  culminating  hour  that  was  to  bring  him 
failure  or  success. 

He  seldom  left  Grosvenor  Square  in  the  days  that 
followed,  except  to  confer  with  his  party.  All  his 
interest,  all  his  relaxation  even,  lay  in  his  work  and 
what  pertained  to  it.  His  strength  was  like  a  solid 
wall,  his  intelligence  was  sharp  and  keen  as  steel.  The 
moment  was  his;  and  by  sheer  mastery  of  will  he  put 
other  considerations  out  of  sight.  He  forgot  Chilcote 
and  forgot  Lillian — not  because  they  escaped  his  mem- 
ory, but  because  he  chose  to  shut  them  from  it. 

Of  Eve  he  saw  but  little  in  this  time  of  high  pressure. 
When  a  man  touches  the  core  of  his  capacities,  puts  his 
best  into  the  work  that  in  his  eyes  stands  paramount, 
there  is  little  place  for,  and  no  need  of,  woman.  She 
comes  before — and  after.  She  inspires,  compensates, 
or  completes;  but  the  achievement,  the  creation,  is 
man's  alone.  And  all  true  women  understand  and 
yield  to  this  unspoken  precept. 

Eve  watched  the  progress  of  his  labor,  and  in  the 
depth  of  her  own  heart  the  watching  came  nearer  to 
actual  living  than  any  activity  she  had  known.  She 
was  an  on-looker — but  an  on-looker  who  stood,  as  it 
were,  on  the  steps  of  the  arena,  who,  by  a  single  forward 
movement,  could  feel  the  sand  under  her  feet,  the 
breath  of  the  battle  on  her  face;  and  in  this  knowledge 
she  rested  satisfied. 

There    were    hours    when    Loder    seemed    scarcely 

228 


THE    MASQUERADER 

conscious  of  her  existence;  but  on  those  occasions 
she  smiled  in  her  serene  way  —  and  went  on  waiting. 
She  knew  that  each  day,  before  the  afternoon  had 
passed,  he  would  come  into  her  sitting-room,  his  face 
thoughtful,  his  hands  full  of  books  or  papers,  and, 
dropping  into  one  of  the  comfortable,  studious  chairs, 
would  ask  laconically  for  tea.  This  was  her  moment 
of  triumph  and  recompense  —  for  the  very  uncon- 
sciousness of  his  coming  doubled  its  value.  He  would 
sit  for  half  an  hour  with  a  preoccupied  glance,  or  with 
keen,  alert  eyes  fixed  on  the  fire,  while  his  ideas  sorted 
themselves  and  fell  into  line.  Sometimes  he  was  silent 
for  the  whole  half-hour,  sometimes  he  commented  to 
himself  as  he  scanned  his  notes ;  but  on  other  and  rarer 
occasions  he  talked,  speaking  his  thoughts  and  his 
theories  aloud,  with  the  enjoyment  of  a  man  who 
knows  himself  fully  in  his  depth,  while  Eve  sipped  her 
tea  or  stitched  peacefully  at  a  strip  of  embroidery. 

On  these  occasions  she  made  a  perfect  listener. 
Here  and  there  she  encouraged  him  with  an  intelligent 
remark,  but  she  never  interrupted.  She  knew  when 
to  be  silent  and  when  to  speak;  when  to  merge  her 
own  individuality  and  when  to  make  it  felt.  In  these 
days  of  stress  and  preparation  he  came  to  her  un- 
consciously for  rest;  he  treated  her  as  he  might  have 
treated  a  younger  brother — relying  on  her  discretion, 
turning  to  her  as  by  right  for  sympathy,  compre- 
hension, and  friendship.  Sometimes,  as  they  sat  silent 
in  the  richly  colored,  homelike  room,  Eve  would  pause 
over  her  embroidery  and  let  her  thoughts  spin  mo- 
mentarily forward — spin  towards  the  point  where,  the 
brunt  of  his  ordeal  passed,  he  must  of  necessity  seek 
something  beyond  mere  rest.     But  there  her  thoughts 

229 


THE    MASQUERADER 

would  inevitably  break  off  and  the  blood  flame  quickly 
into  her  cheek. 

Meanwhile  Loder  worked  persistently.  With  each 
day  that  brought  the  crisis  of  Fraide's  scheme  nearer, 
his  activity  increased — and  with  it  an  intensifying  of 
the  nervous  strain.  For  if  he  had  his  hours  of  exalta- 
tion, he  also  had  his  hours  of  black  apprehension. 
It  is  all  very  well  to  exorcise  a  ghost  by  sheer  strength 
of  will,  but  one  has  also  to  eliminate  the  idea  that  gave 
it  existence.  Lillian  Astrupp,  with  her  unattested 
evidence  and  her  ephemeral  interest,  gave  him  no  real 
uneasiness;  but  Chilcote  and  Chilcote's  possible  sum- 
mons were  matters  of  graver  consideration;  and  there 
were  times  when  they  loomed  very  dark  and  sinister, 
What  if  at  the  very  moment  of  fulfilment — ?  But 
invariably  he  snapped  the  thread  of  the  supposition  and 
turned  with  fiercer  ardor  to  his  work  of  preparation. 

And  so  the  last  morning  of  his  probation  dawned,  and 
for  the  first  time  he  breathed  freely. 

He  rose  early  on  the  day  that  was  to  witness  his 
great  effort  and  dressed  slowly.  It  was  a  splendid 
morning;  the  spirit  of  the  spring  seemed  embodied  in 
the  air,  in  the  pale-blue  sky,  in  the  shafts  of  cool  sun- 
shine that  danced  from  the  mirror  to  the  dressing-table, 
from  the  dressing-table  to  the  pictures  on  the  walls  of 
Chilcote's  vast  room.  Inconsequently  with  its  dancing 
rose  a  memory  of  the  distant  past — a  memory  of  long- 
forgotten  days  when,  as  a  child,  he  had  been  bidden 
to  watch  the  same  sun  perform  the  same  fantastic 
evolutions.  The  sight  and  the  thought  stirred  him 
curiously  with  an  unlooked-for  sense  of  youth.  He 
drew  himself  together  with  an  added  touch  of  decision 
as  he  passed  out  into  the  corridor;  and  as  he  walked 

230 


THE    MASQUERADER 

down  -  stairs  he  whistled  a  bar  or  two  of  an  inspirit- 
ing tune. 

In  the  morning -room  Eve  was  already  waiting. 
She  looked  up,  colored,  and  smiled  as  he  entered.  Her 
face  looked  very  fresh  and  young  and  she  wore  a 
gown  of  the  same  pale  blue  that  she  had  worn  on  his 
first  coming. 

She  looked  up  from  an  open  letter  as  he  came  into 
the  room,  and  the  sun  that  fell  through  the  window 
caught  her  in  a  shaft  of  light,  intensifying  her  blue  eyes, 
her  blue  gown,  and  the  bunch  of  violets  fastened  in  her 
belt.  To  Loder,  still  under  the  influence  of  early 
memories,  she  seemed  the  embodiment  of  some  youth- 
ful ideal — something  lost,  sought  for,  and  found  again. 
Realization  of  his  feeling  for  her  almost  came  to  him 
as  he  stood  there  looking  at  her.  It  hovered  about 
him;  it  tipped  him,  as  it  were,  with  its  wings;  then  it 
rose  again  and  soared  away.  Men  like  him — men  keen 
to  grasp  an  opening  where  their  careers  are  concerned, 
and  tenacious  to  hold  it  when  once  grasped — are  fre- 
quently the  last  to  look  into  their  own  hearts.  He 
glanced  at  Eve,  he  acknowledged  the  stir  of  his  feeling, 
but  he  made  no  attempt  to  define  its  cause.  He  could 
no  more  have  given  reason  for  his  sensations  than  he 
could  have  told  the  precise  date  upon  which,  coming 
down-stairs  at  eight  o'clock,  he  had  first  found  her 
waiting  breakfast  for  him.  The  time  when  all  such 
incidents  were  to  stand  out,  each  to  a  nicety  in  its 
appointed  place,  had  not  yet  arrived.  For  the  moment 
his  youth  had  returned  to  him;  he  possessed  the 
knowledge  of  work  done,  the  sense  of  present  com- 
panionship in  a  world  of  agreeable  things;  above  all,  the 
steady,  quiet  conviction  of  his  own  capacity.     All  these 

231 


THE   MASQUERADER 

things  came  to  him  in  the  moment  of  his  entering  the 
room,  greeting  Eve,  and  passing  to  the  breakfast- 
table;  then,  while  his  eyes  still  rested  contentedly  on 
the  pleasant  array  of  china  and  silver,  while  his  senses 
were  still  alive  to  the  fresh,  earthly  scent  of  Eve's 
violets,  the  blow  so  long  dreaded — so  slow  in  coming — 
fell  with  accumulated  force. 


XXIV 

THE  letter  through  which  the  blow  fell  was  not 
voluminous.  It  was  written  on  cheap  paper  in 
a  disguised  hand,  and  the  contents  covered  only  half  a 
page.  Loder  read  it  slowly,  mentally  articulating 
every  word;  then  he  laid  it  down,  and  as  he  did  so  he 
caught  Eve's  eyes  raised  in  concern.  Again  he  saw 
something  of  his  own  feelings  reflected  in  her  face,  and 
the  shock  braced  him ;  he  picked  up  the  letter,  tearing 
it  into  strips. 

"  I  must  go  out,"  he  said,  slowly.  "  I  must  go  now 
■ — at  once."     His  voice  was  hard. 

Eve's  surprised,  concerned  eyes  still  searched  his. 
"Now  —  at  once?"  she  repeated.  "Now  —  without 
breakfast  ?" 

"I'm  not  hungry."  He  rose  from  his  seat,  and, 
carrying  the  slips  of  paper  across  the  room,  dropped 
them  into  the  fire.  He  did  it,  not  so  much  from 
caution,  as  from  an  imperative  wish  to  do  something, 
to  move,  if  only  across  the  room. 

Eve's  glance  followed  him.  "Is  it  bad  news?"  she 
asked,  anxiously.  It  was  unlike  her  to  be  insistent,  but 
she  was  moved  to  the  impulse  by  the  peculiarity  of  the 
moment. 

"No,"  he  said  shortly.  "It's — business.  This  was 
written  yesterday;  1  should  have  got  it  last  night." 

Her  eyes  widened.  "But  nobody  does  business  at 
*«  233 


THE    MASQUERADER 

eight  in  the  morning — "  she  began,  in  astonishment; 
then  she  suddenly  broke  off, 

Without  apology  or  farewell,  Loder  had  left  the 
fireplace  and  walked  out  of  the  room. 

He  passed  through  the  hall  hurriedly,  picking  up  a 
hat  as  he  went;  and, reaching  the  pavement  outside, he 
went  straight  forward  until  Grosvenor  Square  was  left 
behind ;  then  he  ran.  At  the  risk  of  reputation,  at  the 
loss  of  dignity,  he  ran  until  he  saw  a  cab.  Hailing 
it,  he  sprang  inside,  and,  as  the  cabman  whipped  up 
and  the  horse  responded  to  the  call,  he  realized  for  the 
first  time  the  full  significance  of  what  had  occurred. 

Realization,  like  the  need  for  action,  came  to  him 
slowly,  but  when  it  came  it  was  with  terrible  lucidity, 
He  did  not  swear  as  he  leaned  back  in  his  seat,  me- 
chanically watching  the  stream  of  men  on  their  way  to 
business,  the  belated  cars  of  green  produce  blocking  the 
way  between  the  Strand  and  Covent  Garden.  He  had 
no  use  for  oaths;  his  feelings  lay  deeper  than  mere 
words.  But  his  mouth  was  sternly  set  and  his  eyes 
looked  cold. 

Outside  the  Law  Courts  he  dismissed  his  cab  and 
walked  forward  to  Clifford's  Inn.  As  he  passed 
through  the  familiar  entrance  a  chill  fell  on  him. 
In  the  clear,  early  light  it  seemed  more  than  ever  a 
place  of  dead  hopes,  dead  enterprises,  dead  ambitions. 
In  the  onward  march  of  life  it  had  been  forgotten. 
The  very  air  had  a  breath  of  unfulfilment. 

He  crossed  the  court  rapidly,  but  his  mouth  set  itself 
afresh  as  he  passed  through  the  door-way  of  his  own 
house  and  crossed  the  bare  hall. 

As  he  mounted  the  well-known  stairs,  he  received  his 
first  indication  of  life  in  the  appearance  of  a  cat  from 

234 


THE    MASQUERADER 

the  second-floor  rooms.  At  sight  of  him,  the  animal 
came  forward,  rubbed  demonstratively  against  his 
legs,  and  with  affectionate  persistence  followed  him 
up-stairs. 

Outside  his  door  he  paused.  On  the  ground  stood 
the  usual  morning  can  of  milk — evidence  that  Chiicote 
was  not  yet  awake  or  that,  like  himself,  he  had  no  ap- 
petite for  breakfast.  He  smiled  ironically  as  the  idea 
struck  him,  but  it  was  a  smile  that  stiffened  rather 
than  relaxed  his  lips.  Then  he  drew  out  the  dupli- 
cate key  he  always  carried,  and,  inserting  it  quietly, 
opened  the  door.  A  close,  unpleasant  smell  greeted 
him  as  he  entered  the  small  passage  that  divided  the 
bed  and  sitting  rooms — a  smell  of  whiskey  mingling 
with  the  odor  of  stale  smoke.  With  a  quick  gesture  he 
pushed  open  the  bedroom  door;  then  on  the  threshold 
he  paused,  a  look  of  contempt  and  repulsion  passing 
over  his  face. 

In  his  first  glance  he  scarcely  grasped  the  details 
of  the  scene,  for  the  half-drawn  curtains  kept  the 
light  dim,  but  as  his  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the 
obscurity  he  gathered  their  significance. 

The  room  had  a  sleepless,  jaded  air — the  room  that 
under  his  own  occupation  had  shown  a  rigid,  almost 
monastic  severity.  The  plain  dressing-table  was 
littered  with  cigarette  ends  and  marked  with  black 
and  tawny  patches  where  the  tobacco  had  been  left 
to  burn  itself  out.  On  one  corner  of  the  table  a 
carafe  of  water  and  a  whiskey-decanter  rested  one 
against  the  other,  as  if  for  support,  and  at  the  other 
end  an  overturned  tumbler  lay  in  a  pool  of  liquid. 
The  whole  effect  was  sickly  and  nauseating.  His  glance 
turned  involuntarily  to  the  bed,  and  there  halted. 

235 


THE    MASQUERADER 

On  the  hard,  narrow  mattress,  from  which  the  sheets 
and  blankets  had  fallen  in  a  disordered  heap,  lay 
Chilcote.  He  was  fully  dressed  in  a  shabby  tweed 
suit  of  Loder's;  his  collar  was  open,  his  lip  and  chin 
unshaven;  one  hand  was  limply  grasping  the  pillow, 
while  the  other  hung  out  over  the  side  of  the  bed. 
His  face,  pale,  almost  earthy  in  hue,  might  have  been 
a  mask,  save  for  the  slight  convulsive  spasms  that 
crossed  it  from  time  to  time,  and  corresponded  with 
the  faint,  shivering  starts  that  passed  at  intervals 
over  his  whole  body.  To  complete  his  repellent 
appearance,  a  lock  of  hair  had  fallen  loose  and  lay 
black  and  damp  across  his  forehead. 

Loder  stood  for  a  space  shocked  and  spellbound  by 
the  sight.  Even  in  the  ghastly  disarray,  the  likeness 
— the  extraordinary,  sinister  likeness  that  had  become 
the  pivot  upon  which  he  himself  revolved  —  struck 
him  like  a  blow.  The  man  who  lay  there  was  himself 
— bound  to  him  by  some  subtle,  inexplicable  tie  of 
similarity.  As  the  idea  touched  him  he  turned  aside 
and  stepped  quickly  to  the  dressing-table;  there,  with 
unnecessary  energy,  he  flung  back  the  curtains  and 
threw  the  window  wide ;  then  again  he  turned  towards 
the  bed.  He  had  one  dominant  impulse — to  waken 
Chilcote,  to  be  free  of  the  repulsive,  inert  presence  that 
chilled  him  with  so  personal  a  horror.  Leaning  over 
the  bed,  he  caught  the  shoulder  nearest  to  him  and 
shook  it.  It  was  not  the  moment  for  niceties,  and  his 
gesture  was  rough. 

At  his  first  touch  Chilcote  made  no  response— his 
brain,  dulled  by  indulgence  in  his  vice,  had  become 
a  laggard  in  conveying  sensations;  but  at  last,  as  the 
pressure  on  his  shoulder  increased,  his  nervous  system 

236 


THE    MASQUERADER 

seemed  suddenly  to  jar  into  consciousness.  A  long 
shudder  shook  him;  he  half  lifted  himself  and  then 
dropped  back  upon  the  pillow. 

"Oh!"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  trembling  breath.  "Oh!" 
The  sound  seemed  drawn  from  him  by  compulsion. 

Its  uncanny  tone  chilled  Loder  anew.  "Wake  up, 
man!"  he  said,  suddenly.     'Wake  up!     It's  I — Loder." 

Again  the  other  shuddered;  then  he  turned  quickly 
and  nervously.  "Loder?"  he  said,  doubtfully. 
"Loder?"  Then  his  face  changed.  "Good  God!"  he 
exclaimed,  "what  a  relief!" 

The  words  were  so  intense,  so  spontaneous  and 
unexpected,  that  Loder  took  a  step  back. 

Chilcote  laughed  discordantly,  and  lifted  a  shaky 
hand  to  protect  his  eyes  from  the  light. 

"It's  — it's  all  right,  Loder!  It's  all  right!  It's 
only  that  I — that  I  had  a  beastly  dream.  But,  for 
Heaven's  sake,  shut  that  window!"  He  shivered  in- 
voluntarily and  pushed  the  lock  of  damp  hair  from  his 
forehead  with  a  weak  touch  of  his  old  irritability. 

In  silence  Loder  moved  back  to  the  window  and  shut 
it.  He  was  affected  more  than  he  would  own  even  to 
himself  by  the  obvious  change  in  Chilcote.  He  had 
seen  him  moody,  restless,  nervously  excited;  but  never 
before  had  he  seen  him  entirely  demoralized.  With 
a  dull  feeling  of  impotence  and  disgust  he  stood  by  the 
closed  window,  looking  unseeingly  at  the  roofs  of  the 
opposite  houses. 

But  Chilcote  had  followed  his  movements  restlessly; 

and  now,  as  he  watched  him,  a  flicker  of  excitement 

crossed    his    face.     "God!     Loder,"    he    said,    again, 

'  'twas  a  relief  to  see  you!     I  dreamed  I  was  in  hell — a 

horrible  hell,  worse  than  the  one  they  preach  about." 

237 


THE    MASQUERADER 

He  laughed  to  reassure  himself,  but  his  voice  shook 
pitiably. 

Loder,  who  had  come  to  fight,  stood  silent  and  inert. 

"It  was  horrible  —  beastly,"  Chilcote  went  on. 
"There  was  no  fire  and  brimstone,  but  there  was  some- 
thing worse.  It  was  a  great  ironic  scheme  of  punish- 
ment by  which  every  man  was  chained  to  his  own 
vice — by  which  the  thing  he  had  gone  to  pieces  over,  in- 
stead of  being  denied  him,  was  made  compulsory. 
You  can't  imagine  it."  He  shivered  nervously  and 
his  voice  rose.  "Fancy  being  satiated  beyond  the 
limit  of  satiety,  being  driven  and  dogged  by  the  thing 
you  had  run  after  all  your  life!" 

He  paused  excitedly,  and  in  the  pause  Loder  found 
resolution.  He  shut  his  ears  to  the  panic  in  Chilcote's 
voice,  he  closed  his  consciousness  to  the  sight  of  his 
shaken  face.  With  a  surge  of  determination  he  rallied 
his  theories.  After  all,  he  had  himself  and  his  own 
interests  to  claim  his  thought.  At  the  moment  Chilcote 
was  a  wreck,  with  no  desire  towards  rehabilitation; 
but  there  was  no  guarantee  that  in  an  hour  or  two 
he  might  not  have  regained  control  over  himself,  and 
with  it  the  inclination  that  had  prompted  his  letter 
of  the  day  before.  No;  he  had  himself  to  look  to. 
The  survival  of  the  fittest  was  the  true,  the  only 
principle.  Chilcote  had  had  intellect,  education, 
opportunity,  and  Chilcote  had  deliberately  cast  them 
aside.  Fortifying  himself  in  the  knowledge,  he  turned 
from  the  window  and  moved  slowly  back  to  the  bed. 

"Look  here,"  he  began,  "you  wrote  for  me  last 
night — "     His  voice  was  hard;  he  had  come  to  fight. 

Chilcote  glanced  up  quickly.  His  mouth  was  drawn 
and  there  was  a  new  anxiety  in  his  eyes.     "  Loder!"  he 

238 


THE    MASQUERADER 

exclaimed,  quickly.  "Loder,  come  here!  Come 
nearer!" 

Reluctantly  Loder  obeyed.  Stepping  closer  to  the 
side  of  the  bed,  he  bent  down. 

The  other  put  up  his  hand  and  caught  his  arm.  His 
fingers  trembled  and  jerked.  "I  say,  Loder,"  he  said, 
suddenly,  "I — I've  had  such  a  beastly  night — my 
nerves,  you  know — " 

With  a  quick,  involuntary  disgust  Loder  drew  back. 
"Don't  you  think  we  might  shove  that  aside?"  he 
asked. 

But  Chilcote's  gaze  had  wandered  from  his  face  and 
strayed  to  the  dressing-table ;  there  it  moved  feverishly 
from  one  object  to  another. 

"Loder,"  he  exclaimed,  "do  you  see — can  you  see  if 
there's  a  tube  of  tabloids  on  the  mantel-shelf — or  on 
the  dressing-table  ?"  He  lifted  himself  nervously  on  his 
elbow  and  his  eyes  wandered  uneasily  about  the  room. 
"I  —  I  had  a  beastly  night;  my  nerves  are  horribly 
jarred;  and  I  thought — I  think — "     He  stopped. 

With  his  increasing  consciousness  his  nervous  collapse 
became  more  marked.  At  the  first  moment  of  waking, 
the  relief  of  an  unexpected  presence  had  surmounted 
everything  else;  but  now,  as  one  by  one  his  faculties 
stirred,  his  wretched  condition  became  patent.  With 
a  new  sense  of  perturbation  Loder  made  his  next 
attack. 

"Chilcote — "  he  began,  sternly. 

But  again  Chilcote  caught  his  arm,  plucking  at  the 
coat-sleeve.  "Where  is  it?"  he  said.  "  Where  is  the 
tube  of  tabloids — the  sedative?  I'm — I'm  obliged  to 
take  something  when  my  nerves  go  wrong — "  In  his 
weakness  and  nervous  tremor  he  forgot  that  Loder 

239 


THE    MASQUERADHR 

was  the  sharer  of  his  secret.  Even  in  his  extremity  his 
fear  of  detection  clung  to  him  limply — the  lies  that  had 
become  second  nature  slipped  from  him  without 
effort.  Then  suddenly  a  fresh  panic  seized  him;  his 
ringers  tightened  spasmodically,  his  eyes  ceased  to  rove 
about  the  room  and  settled  on  his  companion's  face. 
"Can  you  see  it,  Loder?"  he  cried.  "I  can't  —  the 
light's  in  my  eyes.  Can  you  see  it?  Can  you  see  the 
tube?"  He  lifted  himself  higher,  an  agony  of  appre- 
hension in  his  face. 

Loder  pushed  him  back  upon  the  pillow.  He  was 
striving  hard  to  keep  his  own  mind  cool,  to  steer  his 
own  course  straight  through  the  chaos  that  confronted 
him.  "Chilcote,"  he  began  once  more,  "you  sent  for 
me  last  night,  and  I  came  the  first  thing  this  morning 
to  tell  you — "     But  there  he  stopped. 

With  an  excitement  that  lent  him  strength,  Chilcote 
pushed  aside  his  hands.  "God!"  he  said,  suddenly, 
"suppose  'twas  lost  —  suppose  'twas  gone!"  The 
imaginary  possibility  gripped  him.  He  sat  up,  his 
face  livid,  drops  of  perspiration  showing  on  his  fore- 
head, his  whole  shattered  system  trembling  before  his 
thought. 

At  the  sight,  Loder  set  his  lips.  "The  tube  is 
on  the  mantel -shelf,"  he  said,  in  a  cold,  abrupt 
voice. 

A  groan  of  relief  fell  from  Chilcote  and  the  muscles 
of  his  face  relaxed.  For  a  moment  he  lay  back  with 
closed  eyes;  then  the  desire  that  tortured  him  stirred 
afresh.  He  lifted  his  eyelids  and  looked  at  his  com- 
panion. "Hand  it  to  me,"  he  said,  quickly.  "Give 
it  to  me.  Give  it  to  me,  Loder.  Quick  as  you  can! 
There's  a  glass  on  the  table  and  some  whiskey  and 

240 


THE    MASQUERADER 

water.  The  tabloids  dissolve,  you  know — "  In  his 
new  excitement  he  held  out  his  hand. 

But  Loder  stayed  motionless.  He  had  come  to 
fight,  to  demand,  to  plead — if  need  be — for  the  one 
hour  for  which  he  had  lived;  the  hour  that  was  to 
satisfy  all  labor,  all  endeavor,  all  ambition.  With 
dogged  persistence  he  made  one  more  essay. 

"Chilcote,  you  wrote  last  night  to  recall  me — " 
Once  again  he  paused,  checked  by  a  new  interruption. 
Sitting  up  again,  Chilcote  struck  out  suddenly  with 
his  left  hand  in  a  rush  of  his  old  irritability. 

"Damn  you!"  he  cried,  suddenly,  "what  are  you 
talking  about  ?  Look  at  me!  Get  me  the  stuff.  I  tell 
you  it's  imperative."  In  his  excitement  his  breath 
failed  and  he  coughed.  At  the  effort  his  whole  frame 
was  shaken. 

Loder  walked  to  the  dressing-table,  then  back  to  the 
bed.     A  deep  agitation  was  at  work  in  his  mind. 

Again  Chilcote's  lips  parted.  "Loder,"  he  said, 
faintly — "Loder,  I  must — I  must  have  it.  It's  im- 
perative. ' '  Once  more  he  attempted  to  lift  himself,  but 
the  effort  was  futile. 

Again  Loder  turned  away. 

"Loder — for  God's  sake — " 

With  a  fierce  gesture  the  other  turned  on  him. 
"Good  heavens!  man — "  he  began.  Then  unaccount- 
ably his  voice  changed.  The  suggestion  that  had  been 
hovering  in  his  mind  took  sudden  and  definite  shape. 
"All  right!"  he  said,  in  a  lower  voice.  "All  right! 
Stay  as  you  are." 

He  crossed  to  where  the  empty  tumbler  stood  and 
hastily  mixed  the  whiskey  and  water;  then  crossing 
to  the  mantel-piece  where  lay  the  small  glass  tube 

241 


THE    MASQUERADER 

containing  the  tightly  packed  tabloids,  he  paused  and 
glanced  once  more  towards  the  bed.  "How  many?" 
he  said,  laconically. 

Chilccte  lifted  his  head.  His  face  was  pitiably 
drawn,  but  the  feverish  brightness  in  his  eyes  had  in- 
creased. "Five,"  he  said,  sharply.  "Five.  Do  you 
hear,  Loder?" 

"Five?"  Involuntarily  Loder  lowered  the  hand 
that  held  the  tube.  From  previous  confidences  of 
Chilcote's  he  knew  the  amount  of  morphia  contained 
in  each  tabloid,  and  realized  that  five  tabloids,  if  not 
an  absolutely  dangerous,  was  at  least  an  excessive  dose, 
even  for  one  accustomed  to  the  drug.  For  a  moment 
his  resolution  failed;  then  the  dominant  note  of  his 
nature  —  the  unconscious,  fundamental  egotism  on 
which  his  character  was  based — asserted  itself  beyond 
denial.  It  might  be  reprehensible,  it  might  even  be 
criminal  to  accede  to  such  a  request,  made  by  a  man  in 
such  a  condition  of  body  and  mind ;  yet  the  laws  of 
the  universe  demanded  self-assertion — prompted  every 
human  mind  to  desire,  to  grasp,  and  to  hold.  With  a 
perception  swifter  than  any  he  had  experienced,  he 
realized  the  certain  respite  to  be  gained  by  yielding  to 
his  impulse.  He  looked  at  Chilcote  with  his  haggard, 
anxious  expression,  his  eager,  restless  eyes;  and  a 
vision  of  himself  followed  sharp  upon  his  glance.  A 
vision  of  the  untiring  labor  of  the  past  ten  days,  of  the 
slowly  kindling  ambition,  of  the  supremacy  all  but 
gained.  Then,  as  the  picture  completed  itself,  he 
lifted  his  hand  with  an  abrupt  movement  and  dropped 
the  five  tabloids  one  after  another  into  the  glass. 


XXV 

HAVING  taken  a  definite  step  in  any  direction,  it 
was  not  in  Loder's  nature  to  wish  it  retraced. 
His  face  was  set,  but  set  with  determination,  when  he 
closed  the  outer  door  of  his  own  rooms  and  passed 
quietly  down  the  stairs  and  out  into  the  silent  court. 
The  thought  of  Chilcote,  his  pitiable  condition,  his 
sordid  environments,  were  things  that  required  a  firm 
will  to  drive  into  the  background  of  the  imagination; 
but  a  whole  inferno  of  such  visions  would  not  have 
daunted  Loder  on  that  morning  as,  unobserved  by 
any  eyes,  he  left  the  little  court-yard  with  its  grass,  its 
trees,  its  pavement — all  so  distastefully  familiar — and 
passed  down  the  Strand  towards  life  and  action. 

As  he  walked,  his  steps  increased  in  speed  and 
vigor.  Now,  for  the  first  time,  he  fully  appreciated 
the  great  mental  strain  that  he  had  undergone  in  the 
past  ten  days — the  unnatural  tension;  the  suppressed, 
but  perpetual,  sense  of  impending  recall;  the  conse- 
quently high  pressure  at  which  work,  and  even  exist- 
ence, had  been  carried  on.  And  as  he  hurried  for- 
ward the  natural  reaction  to  this  state  of  things 
came  upon  him  in  a  flood  of  security  and  confidence 
— a  strong  realization  of  the  temporary  respite  and 
freedom  for  which  no  price  would  have  seemed  too 
high.  The  moment  for  which  he  had  unconsciously 
lived  ever  since  Chilcote 's  first  memorable  proposition 

243 


THE    MASQUERADER 

was  within  reach  at  last  —  safeguarded  by  his  own 
action. 

The  walk  from  Clifford's  Inn  to  Grosvenor  Square 
was  long  enough  to  dispel  any  excitement  that  his  inter- 
view had  aroused;  and  long  before  the  well-known 
house  came  into  view  he  felt  sufficiently  braced 
mentally  and  physically  to  seek  Eve  in  the  morning- 
room — where  he  instinctively  felt  she  would  still  be 
waiting  for  him. 

Thus  he  encountered  and  overpassed  the  obstacle 
that  had  so  nearly  threatened  ruin;  and,  with  the 
singleness  of  purpose  that  always  distinguished  him, 
he  was  able,  once  having  passed  it,  to  dismiss  it  al- 
together from  his  mind.  From  the  moment  of  his  re- 
turn to  Chilcote's  house  no  misgiving  as  to  his  own 
action,  no  shadow  of  doubt,  rose  to  trouble  his  mind. 
His  feelings  on  the  matter  were  quite  simple.  He  had 
inordinately  desired  a  certain  opportunity;  one  factor 
had  arisen  to  debar  that  opportunity,  and  he,  claiming 
the  right  of  strength,  had  set  the  barrier  aside.  In  the 
simplicity  of  the  reasoning  lay  its  power  to  convince; 
and  were  a  tonic  needed  to  brace  him  for  his  task,  he 
was  provided  with  one  in  the  masterful  sense  of  a 
difficulty  set  at  nought.  For  the  man  who  has  fought 
and  conquered  one  obstacle  feels  strong  to  vanquish  a 
score. 

It  was  on  this  day,  at  the  reassembling  of  Parliament, 
that  Fraide's  great  blow  was  to  be  struck.  In  the  ten 
days  since  the  affair  of  the  caravans  had  been  reported 
from  Persia  public  feeling  had  run  high,  and  it  was 
upon  the  pivot  of  this  incident  that  Loder's  attack 
was  to  turn;  for,  as  Lakely  was  fond  of  remarking, 
"In  the  scales  of  public  opinion,  one  dead  Englishman 

244 


THE    MASQUERADER 

has  more  weight  than  the  whole  Eastern  Question!" 
It  had  been  arranged  that,  following  the  customary- 
procedure,  Loder  was  to  rise  after  questions  at  the 
morning  sitting  and  ask  leave  to  move  the  adjourn- 
ment of  the  House  on  a  definite  matter  of  urgent 
public  importance;  upon  which — leave  having  been 
granted  by  the  rising  of  forty  members  in  his  support — 
the  way  was  to  lie  open  for  his  definite  attack  at  the 
evening  sitting.  And  it  was  with  a  mind  attuned  to 
this  plan  of  action  that  he  retired  to  the  study  im- 
mediately he  had  breakfasted,  and  settled  to  a  final 
revision  of  his  speech  before  an  early  party  conference 
should  compel  him  to  leave  the  house.  But  here 
again  circumstances  were  destined  to  change  his  pro- 
gramme. Scarcely  had  he  sorted  his  notes  and  drawn 
his  chair  to  Chilcote's  desk  than  Renwick  entered  the 
room  with  the  same  air  of  important  haste  that  he  had 
shown  on  a  previous  occasion. 

"A  letter  from  Mr.  Fraide,  sir.  But  there's  no 
answer,"  he  said,  with  unusual  brevity. 

Loder  waited  till  he  had  left  the  room,  then  he  tore 
the  letter  open.     He  read: 

"  My  dear  Chilcote, — Lakely  is  the  recipient  of  special  and 
very  vital  news  from  Meshed — unofficial,  but  none  the  less 
alarming.  Acts  of  Russian  aggression  towards  British  traders 
are  reported  to  be  rapidly  increasing,  and  it  is  stated  that  the 
authority  of  the  Consulate  is  treated  with  contempt.  Pending 
a  possible  confirmation  of  this,  I  would  suggest  that  you 
keep  an  open  mind  on  the  subject  of  to-night's  speech.  By 
adopting  an  anticipatory — even  an  unprepared — attitude  you 
may  find  your  hand  materially  strengthened.  I  shall  put 
my  opinions  before  you  more  explicitly  when  we  meet. 

"Yours  faithfully, 

"Herbert  Fraide." 

245 


THE    MASQUERADER 

The  letter,  worded  with  Fraide's  usual  restraint,  made 
a  strong  impression  on  its  recipient.  The  thought  that 
his  speech  might  not  only  express  opinions  already 
tacitly  held,  but  voice  a  situation  of  intense  and 
national  importance,  struck  him  with  full  force.  For 
many  minutes  after  he  had  grasped  the  meaning  of 
Fraide's  message  he  sat  neglectful  of  his  notes,  his 
elbows  resting  on  the  desk,  his  face  between  his  hands, 
stirred  by  the  suggestion  that  here  might  lie  a  greater 
opportunity  than  any  he  had  anticipated. 

Still  moved  by  this  new  suggestion,  he  attended  the 
party  conclave  that  Fraide  had  convened,  and  after- 
wards lunched  with  and  accompanied  his  leader  to  the 
House.  They  spoke  very  little  as  they  drove  to 
Westminster,  for  each  was  engrossed  by  his  own 
thoughts.  Only  once  did  Fraide  allude  to  the  in- 
cident that  was  paramount  in  both  their  minds.  Then, 
turning  to  Loder  with  a  smile  of  encouragement,  he 
had  laid  his  fingers  for  an  instant  on  his  arm. 

"Chilcote,"  he  had  said,  "when  the  time  comes,  re- 
member you  have  all  my  confidence." 

Looking  back  upon  that  day,  Loder  often  wondered 
at  the  calmness  with  which  he  bore  the  uncertainty. 
To  sit  apparently  unmoved,  and  wait  without  emotion 
for  news  that  might  change  the  whole  tenor  of  one's 
action,  would  have  tried  the  stoicism  of  the  most  ex- 
perienced; to  the  novice  it  was  wellnigh  unendurable. 
And  it  was  under  these  conditions,  and  fighting  against 
these  odds,  that  he  sat  through  the  long  afternoon  in 
Chilcote's  place,  obeying  the  dictates  of  his  chief. 
But  if  the  day  was  fraught  with  difficulties  for  him, 
it  was  fraught  with  dulness  and  disappointment  for 
others;    for    the   undercurrent   of   interest    that   had 

246 


THE    MASQUERADER 

stirred  at  the  Easter  adjournment,  and  risen  with 
added  force  on  this  first  day  of  the  new  session,  was 
gradually  but  surely  threatened  with  extinction,  as 
hour  after  hour  passed,  bringing  no  suggestion  of  the 
battle  that  had  on  every  side  been  tacitly  expected. 
Slowly  and  unmistakably  speculation  and  dissatis- 
faction crept  into  the  atmosphere  of  the  House,  as 
moment  succeeded  moment,  and  the  Opposition  made 
no  sign.  Was  Fraide  shirking  the  attack  ?  Or  was 
he  playing  a  waiting  game  ?  Again  and  again  the 
question  arose,  filling  the  air  with  a  passing  flicker 
of  interest;  but  each  time  it  sprang  up  only  to  die 
down  again,  as  the  ordinary  business  of  the  day 
dragged  itself  out. 

Gradually,  as  the  afternoon  wore  on,  daylight  began 
to  fade.  Loder,  sitting  rigidly  in  Chilcote's  place, 
watched  with  suppressed  inquiry  the  faces  of  the  men 
who  entered  through  the  constantly  swinging  doors; 
but  not  one  face,  so  eagerly  scanned,  carried  the 
message  for  which  he  waited.  Monotonously  and 
mechanically  the  time  passed.  The  Government, 
adopting  a  neutral  attitude,  carefully '  skirted  all 
dangerous  subjects;  while  the  Opposition,  acting  under 
Fraide's  suggestion,  assisted  rather  than  hindered  the 
programme  of  postponement.  For  the  moment  the 
eagerly  anticipated  reassembling  threatened  dismal 
failure;  and  it  was  with  a  universal  movement  of 
weariness  and  relief  that  at  last  the  House  rose  to 
dine. 

But  there  are  no  possibilities  so  elastic  as  those  of 
politics.  At  half-past  seven  the  House  rose  in  a 
spirit  of  boredom  and  disappointment;  and  at  eight 
o'clock  the  lobbies,  the  dining-room,  the  entire  space 

247 


THE    MASQUERADER 

of  the  vast  building,  was  stirred  into  activity  by  the 
arrival  of  a  single  telegraphic  message. 

The  new  development  for  which  Fraide  had  waited 
came  indeed,  but  it  came  with  a  force  he  had  little 
anticipated.  With  a  thrill  of  awe  and  consternation 
men  heard  and  repeated  the  astounding  news  that — 
while  personally  exercising  his  authority  on  behalf 
of  British  traders — Sir  William  B rice-Field,  Consul- 
General  at  Meshed,  had  been  fired  at  by  a  Russian 
officer  and  instantly  killed. 

The  interval  immediately  following  the  receipt  of  this 
news  was  too  confused  for  detailed  remembrance.  Two 
ideas  made  themselves  slowly  felt — a  deep  horror  that 
such  an  event  could  obtrude  itself  upon  our  high 
civilization,  and  a  strong  personal  dismay  that  so 
honored,  distinguished,  and  esteemed  a  representative 
as  Sir  William  Brice-Field  could  have  been  allowed  to 
meet  death  in  so  terrible  a  manner. 

It  was  in  the  consciousness  of  this  feeling — the 
consciousness  that,  in  his  own  person,  he  might  voice, 
not  only  the  feelings  of  his  party,  but  those  of  the 
whole  country — that  Loder  rose  an  hour  later  to  make 
his  long-delayed  attack. 

He  stood  silent  for  a  moment,  as  he  had  done  on  an 
earlier  occasion ;  but  this  time  his  motive  was  different. 
Roused  beyond  any  feeling  of  self-consciousness,  he 
waited  as  by  right  for  the  full  attention  of  the  House ; 
then  quietly,  but  with  self-possessed  firmness,  he 
moved  the  motion  for  adjournment. 

Like  a  match  to  a  train  of  powder,  the  words  set 
flame  to  the  excitement  that  had  smouldered  for  weeks; 
and  in  an  atmosphere  of  stirring  activity,  a  scene  of 
such  tense  and  vital  concentration  as  the  House  has 

248 


THE    MASQUERADER 

rarely  witnessed,  he  found  inspiration  for  his  great 
achievement. 

To  give  Loder's  speech  in  mere  words  would  be 
little  short  of  futile.  The  gift  of  oratory  is  too  illusive, 
too  much  a  matter  of  eye  and  voice  and  individuality, 
to  allow  of  cold  reproduction.  To  those  who  heard 
him  speak  on  that  night  of  April  18th  the  speech 
will  require  no  recalling;  and  to  those  who  did  not 
hear  him  there  would  be  no  substitute  in  bare  repro- 
duction. 

In  the  moment  of  action  it  mattered  nothing  to  him 
that  his  previous  preparations  were  to  a  great  extent 
rendered  useless  by  this  news  that  had  come  with  such 
paralyzing  effect.  In  the  sweeping  consciousness  of 
his  own  ability,  he  found  added  joy  in  the  freedom  it 
opened  up.  He  ceased  to  consider  that  by  fate  he  was 
a  Conservative,  bound  by  traditional  conventionalities: 
in  that  great  moment  he  knew  himself  sufficiently  a 
man  to  exercise  whatever  individuality  instinct  prompt- 
ed. He  forgot  the  didactic  methods  by  which  he  had 
proposed  to  show  knowledge  of  his  subject — both  as  a 
past  and  a  future  factor  in  European  politics.  With  his 
own  strong  appreciation  of  present  things,  he  saw  and 
grasped  the  vast  present  interest  lying  beneath  his 
hand. 

For  fifty  minutes  he  held  the  interest  of  the  House, 
speaking  insistently,  fearlessly,  commandingly  on  the 
immediate  need  of  action.  He  unhesitatingly  pointed 
out  that  the  news  which  had  just  reached  England  was 
not  so  much  an  appalling  fact  as  a  sinister  warning  to 
those  in  whose  keeping  lay  the  safety  of  the  country's 
interests.  Lastly,  with  a  fine  touch  of  eloquence,  he 
paid  tribute  to  the  steadfast  fidelity  of  such  men  as 
17  249 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Sir  William  Brice-Field,  who,  whatever  political  com- 
plications arise  at  home,  pursue  their  duty  unswerving- 
ly on  the  outposts  of  the  empire. 

At  his  last  words  there  was  silence — the  silence  that 
marks  a  genuine  effect — then  all  at  once,  with  vehe- 
ment, impressive  force,  the  storm  of  enthusiasm  broke 
its  bounds. 

It  was  one  of  those  stupendous  bursts  of  feeling  that 
no  etiquette,  no  decorum  is  powerful  enough  to  quell. 
As  he  resumed  his  seat,  very  pale,  but  exalted  as  men 
are  exalted  only  once  or  twice  in  a  lifetime,  it  rose 
about  him — clamorous,  spontaneous,  undeniable.  Near 
at  hand  were  the  faces  of  his  party,  excited  and  trium- 
phant; across  the  house  were  the  faces  of  Sefborough 
and  his  Ministry,  uncomfortable  and  disturbed. 

The  tumult  swelled,  then  fell  away;  and  in  the 
partial  lull  that  followed  Fraide  leaned  over  the  back 
of  his  seat.  His  quiet,  dignified  expression  was  un- 
altered, but  his  eyes  were  intensely  bright. 

"Chilcote,"  he  whispered,  "I  don't  congratulate  you 
— or  myself.  I  congratulate  the  country  on  possessing 
a  great  man!" 

The  remaining  features  of  the  debate  followed 
quickly  one  upon  the  other;  the  electric  atmosphere  of 
the  House  possessed  a  strong  incentive  power.  Im- 
mediately Loder's  ovation  had  subsided,  the  Under- 
Secretary  for  Foreign  Affairs  rose  and  in  a  careful  and 
non-incriminating  reply  defended  the  attitude  of  the 
Government. 

Next  came  Fraide,  who,  in  one  of  his  rare  and  polish- 
ed speeches,  touched  with  much  feeling  upon  his 
personal  grief  at  the  news  reported  from  Persia,  and 
made  emphatic  indorsement  of  Loder's  words. 

250 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Following  Fraide  came  one  or  two  dissentient  Lib- 
erals, and  then  Sefborough  himself  closed  the  debate. 
His  speech  was  masterly  and  fluent;  but  though  any 
disquietude  he  may  have  felt  was  well  disguised  under 
a  tone  of  reassuring  ease,  the  attempt  to  rehabilitate 
his  position — already  weakened  in  more  than  one  direc- 
tion— was  a  task  beyond  his  strength. 

Amid  extraordinary  excitement  the  division  followed 
— and  with  it  a  Government  defeat. 

It  was  not  until  half  an  hour  after  the  votes  had 
been  taken  that  Loder,  freed  at  last  from  persistent 
congratulations,  found  opportunity  to  look  for  Eve. 
In  accordance  with  a  promise  made  that  morning,  he 
was  to  find  her  waiting  outside  the  Ladies'  Gallery  at 
the  close  of  the  debate. 

Disengaging  himself  from  the  group  of  men  who  had 
surrounded  and  followed  him  down  the  lobby,  he 
discarded  the  lift  and  ran  up  the  narrow  staircase. 
Reaching  the  landing,  he  went  forward  hurriedly;  then 
with  a  certain  abrupt  movement  he  paused.  In  the 
doorway  leading  to  the  gallery  Eve  was  waiting  for 
him.  The  place  was  not  brightly  lighted,  and  she  was 
standing  in  the  shadow;  but  it  needed  only  a  glance  to 
assure  his  recognition.  He  could  almost  have  seen  in 
the  dark  that  night,  so  vivid  were  his  perceptions.  He 
took  a  step  towards  her,  then  again  he  stopped.  In  a 
second  glance  he  realized  that  her  eyes  were  bright 
with  tears;  and  it  was  with  the  strangest  sensation  he 
had  ever  experienced  that  the  knowledge  flashed  upon 
him.  Here,  also,  he  had  struck  the  same  note — the 
long-coveted  note  of  supremacy.  It  had  rung  out  full 
and  clear  as  he  stood  in  Chilcote's  place  dominating 

251 


THE    MASQUERADER 

the  House;  it  had  besieged  him  clamorously  as  he 
passed  along  the  lobbies  amid  a  sea  of  friendly  hands 
and  voices ;  now  in  the  quiet  of  the  deserted  gallery  it 
came  home  to  him  with  deeper  meaning  from  the  eyes 
of  Chilcote's  wife. 

Withoiit  a  thought  he  put  out  his  hands  and  caught 
hers. 

"I  couldn't  get  away,"  he  said.  "I'm  afraid  I'm 
very  late." 

With  a  smile  that  scattered  her  tears  Eve  looked 
up.  "Are  you?"  she  said,  laughing  a  little.  "I  don't 
know  what  the  time  is.  I  scarcely  know  whether  it's 
night  or  day." 

Still  holding  one  of  her  hands,  he  drew  her  down  the 
stairs;  but  as  they  reached  the  last  step  she  released 
her  fingers. 

"  In  the  carriage!"  she  said,  with  another  little  laugh 
of  nervous  happiness. 

At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  they  were  surrounded. 
Men  whose  faces  Loder  barely  knew  crowded  about 
him.  The  intoxication  of  excitement  was  still  in  the 
air — the  instinct  that  a  new  force  had  made  itself  felt, 
a  new  epoch  been  entered  upon,  stirred  prophetically 
in  every  mind. 

Passing  through  the  enthusiastic  concourse  of  men, 
they  came  unexpectedly  upon  Fraide  and  Lady  Sarah 
surrounded  by  a  group  of  friends.  The  old  states- 
man came  forward  instantly,  and,  taking  Loder's  arm, 
walked  with  him  to  Chilcote's  waiting  brougham.  He 
said  little  as  they  slowly  made  their  way  to  the  car- 
riage, but  the  pressure  of  his  fingers  was  tense  and 
an  unwonted  color  showed  in  his  face.  When  Eve 
and  Loder  had  taken  their  seats   he   stepped  to  the 

252 


THE    MASQUERADER 

edge  of  the  curb.  They  were  alone  for  the  moment,  and, 
leaning  close  to  the  carrage,  he  put  his  hand  through 
the  open  window.  In  silence  he  took  Eve's  fingers 
and  held  them  in  a  long,  affectionate  pressure;  then  he 
released  them  and  took  Loder's  hand. 

"  Good-night,  Chilcote,"  he  said.  "  You  have  proved 
yourself  worthy  of  her.  Good -night."  He  turned 
quickly  and  rejoined  his  waiting  friends.  In  another 
second  the  horses  had  wheeled  round,  and  Eve  and 
Loder  were  carried  swiftly  forward  into  the  darkness. 

In  the  great  moments  of  man's  life  woman  comes 
before — and  after.  Some  shadow  of  this  truth  was  in 
Eve's  mind  as  she  lay  back  in  her  seat  with  closed  eyes 
and  parted  lips.  It  seemed  that  life  came  to  her  now 
for  the  first  time — came  in  the  glad,  proud,  satisfying 
tide  of  things  accomplished.  This  was  her  hour:  and 
the  recognition  of  it  brought  the  blood  to  her  face 
in  a  sudden,  happy  rush.  There  had  been  no  need  to 
precipitate  its  coming;  it  had  been  ordained  from  the 
first.  Whether  she  desired  it  or  no,  whether  she  strove 
to  draw  it  nearer  or  strove  to  ward  it  off,  its  coming 
had  been  inevitable.  She  opened  her  eyes  suddenly 
and  looked  out  into  the  darkness — the  darkness 
throbbing  with  multitudes  of  lives,  all  awaiting,  all 
desiring  fulfilment.  She  was  no  longer  lonely,  no 
longer  aloof;  she  was  kin  with  all  this  pitiful,  admirable, 
sinning,  loving  humanity.  Again  tears  of  pride  and 
happiness  filled  her  eyes.  Then  suddenly  the  thing 
she  had  waited  for  came  to  pass. 

Loder  leaned  close  to  her.  She  was  conscious  of  his 
nearer  presence,  of  his  strong,  masterful  personality. 
With  a  thrill  that  caught  her  breath,  she  felt  his  arm 
about  her  shoulder  and  heard  the  sound  of  his  voice. 

253 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"Eve,"  he  said,  "I  love  you.  Do  you  understand.-1 
I  love  you."  And  drawing  her  close  to  him  he  bent 
and  kissed  her. 

With  Loder,  to  do  was  to  do  fully.  When  he  gave, 
he  gave  generously;  when  he  swept  aside  a  barrier  he 
left  no  stone  standing.  He  had  been  slow  to  recognize 
his  capacities  —  slower  still  to  recognize  his  feelings. 
But  now  that  the  knowledge  came  he  received  it 
openly.  In  this  matter  of  newly  comprehended  love 
he  gave  no  thought  to  either  past  or  future.  That  they 
loved  and  were  alone  was  all  he  knew  or  questioned. 
She  was  as  much  Eve — the  one  woman — as  though 
they  were  together  in  the  primeval  garden;  and  in 
that  spirit  he  claimed  her. 

He  neither  spoke  nor  behaved  extravagantly  in  that 
great  moment  of  comprehension.  He  acted  quietly, 
with  the  completeness  of  purpose  that  he  gave  to 
everything.  He  had  found  a  new  capacity  within 
himself,  and  he  was  strong  enough  to  dread  no  weak- 
ness in  displaying  it. 

Holding  her  close  to  him,  he  repeated  his  declara- 
tion again  and  again,  as  though  repetition  ratified  it. 
He  found  no  need  to  question  her  feeling  for  him — he 
had  divined  it  in  a  flash  of  inspiration  as  she  stood 
waiting  in  the  doorway  of  the  gallery;  but  his  own 
surrender  was  a  different  matter. 

As  the  carriage  passed  round  the  corner  of  Whitehall 
and  dipped  into  the  traffic  of  Piccadilly  he  bent  down 
again  until  her  soft  hair  brushed  his  face;  and  the 
warm  personal  contact,  the  slight,  fresh  smell  of  violets 
so  suggestive  of  her  presence,  stirred  him  afresh. 

"Eve,"  he  said,  vehemently,  "do  you  understand? 
Do  you  know  that  I  have  loved  you  always — from  the 

254 


THE    MASQUERADER 

very  first  ?"  As  he  said  it  he  bent  still  nearer,  kissing 
her  lips,  her  forehead,  her  hair. 

At  the  same  moment  the  horses  slackened  speed  and 
then  stopped,  arrested  by  one  of  the  temporary  blocks 
that  so  often  occur  in  the  traffic  of  Piccadilly  Circus. 

Loder,  preoccupied  with  his  own  feelings,  scarcely 
noticed  the  halt,  but  Eve  drew  away  from  him  laughing. 

"You  mustn't!"  she  said,  softly.     "Look!" 

The  carriage  had  stopped  beside  one  of  the  small 
islands  that  intersect  the  place;  a  group  of  pedestrians 
were  crowded  upon  it,  under  the  light  of  the  electric 
lamp — wayfarers  who,  like  themselves,  were  awaiting 
a  passage.  Loder  took  a  cursory  glance  at  them,  then 
turned  back  to  Eve. 

"What  are  they,  after  all,  but  men  and  women?"  he 
said.  "They'd  understand — every  one  of  them."  He 
laughed  in  his  turn;  nevertheless  he  withdrew  his  arm. 
Her  feminine  thought  for  conventionalities  appealed 
to  him.     It  was  an  acknowledgment  of  dependency. 

For  a  while  they  sat  silent,  the  light  of  the  street 
lamp  flickering  through  the  glass  of  the  window,  the 
hum  of  voices  and  traffic  coming  to  them  in  a  con- 
tinuous rise  and  fall  of  sound.  At  first  the  position 
was  interesting;  but,  as  the  seconds  followed  each 
other,  it  gradually  became  irksome.  Loder,  watching 
the  varying  expressions  of  Eve's  face,  grew  impatient 
of  the  delay,  grew  suddenly  eager  to  be  alone  again  in 
the  fragrant  darkness. 

Impelled  by  the  desire,  he  leaned  forward  and  opened 
the  window. 

"Let's  find  the  meaning  of  this,"  he  said.  " Is  there 
nobody  to  regulate  the  traffic?"  As  he  spoke  he  half 
rose  and  leaned  out  of  the  window.     There  was  a  touch 

255 


THE    MASQUERADER 

of  imperious  annoyance  in  his  manner.  Fresh  from 
the  realization  of  power,  there  was  something  irksome 
in  this  commonplace  check  to  his  desires. 

"Isn't  it  possible  to  get  out  of  this ?"  Eve  heard  him 
call  to  the  coachman.     Then  she  heard  no  more. 

He  had  leaned  out  of  the  carriage  with  the  intention 
of  looking  onward  towards  the  cause  of  the  delay; 
instead,  by  that  magnetic  attraction  that  undoubtedly 
exists,  he  looked  directly  in  front  of  him  at  the  group 
of  people  waiting  on  the  little  island — at  one  man  who 
leaned  against  the  lamp-post  in  an  attitude  of  apathy 
— a  man  with  a  pallid,  unshaven  face  and  lustreless 
eyes,  who  wore  a  cap  drawn  low  over  his  forehead. 

He  looked  at  this  man,  and  the  man  saw  and  re- 
turned his  glance.  For  a  space  that  seemed  in- 
terminable they  held  each  other's  eyes;  then  very 
slowly  Loder  drew  back  into  the  carriage. 

As  he  dropped  into  his  seat,  Eve  glanced  at  him 

anxiously. 

"John,"  she  said,  "has  anything  happened?  You 
look  ill." 

He  turned  to  her  and  tried  to  smile. 

"  It's  nothing,"  he  said.  "  Nothing  to  worry  about." 
He  spoke  quickly,'  but  his  voice  had  suddenly  become 
flat.  All  the  command,  all  the  domination  had  dropped 
away  from  it. 

Eve  bent  close  to  him,  her  face  lighting  up  with 
anxious  tenderness.  "It  was  the  excitement,"  she 
said,  "the  strain  of  to-night." 

He  looked  at  her;  but  he  made  no  attempt  to  press 
the  fingers  that  clasped  his  own. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  slowly.  "Yes.  It  was  the  excite- 
ment of  to-night — and  the  reaction." 

256 


XXVI 

THE  next  morning  at  eight  o'clock,  and  again 
without  breakfast,  Loder  covered  the  distance 
between  Grosvenor  Square  and  Clifford's  Inn.  He  left 
Chilcote's  house  hastily — with  a  haste  that  only  an 
urgent  motive  could  have  driven  him  to  adopt.  His 
steps  were  quick  and  uneven  as  he  traversed  the  inter- 
vening streets;  his  shoulders  lacked  their  decisive 
pose,  and  his  pale  face  was  marked  with  shadows  be- 
neath the  eyes  —  shadows  that  bore  witness  to  the 
sleepless  night  spent  in  pacing  Chilcote's  vast  and 
lonely  room.  By  the  curious  effect  of  circumstances 
the  likeness  between  the  two  men  had  never  been 
more  significantly  marked  than  on  that  morning  of 
April  19th,  when  Loder  walked  along  the  pavements 
crowded  with  early  workers  and  brisk  with  insistent 
news- venders  already  alive  to  the  value  of  last  night's 
political  crisis. 

The  irony  of  this  last  element  in  the  day's  concerns 
came  to  him  fully  when  one  newsboy,  more  energetic 
than  his  fellows,  thrust  a  paper  in  front  of  him. 

"Sensation  in  the  'Ouse,  sir!  Speech  by  Mr.  Chil- 
cote!     Government  defeat!" 

For  a  moment  Loder  stopped  and  his  face  reddened. 
The  tide  of  emotions  still  ran  strong.  His  hand  went 
instinctively  to  his  pocket;  then  his  lips  set.  He 
shook  his  head  and  walked  on. 

257 


THE    MASQUERADER 

With  the  same  hard  expression  about  his  mouth,  he 
turned  into  Clifford's  Inn,  passed  through  his  own 
doorway,  and  mounted  the  stairs. 

This  time  there  was  no  milk-can  on  the  threshold  of 
his  rooms  and  the  door  yielded  to  his  pressure  without 
the  need  of  a  key.  With  a  strange  sensation  of  re- 
luctance he  walked  into  the  narrow  passage  and 
paused,  uncertain  which  room  to  enter  first.  As  he 
stood  hesitating  a  voice  from  the  sitting-room  settled 
the  question. 

"Who's  there ?"  it  called,  irritably.  " What  do  you 
want?" 

Without  further  ceremony  the  intruder  pushed  the 
door  open  and  entered  the  room.  As  he  did  so  he  drew 
a  quick  breath — whether  of  disappointment  or  relief 
it  was  impossible  to  say.  Whether  he  had  hoped  for 
or  dreaded  it,  Chilcote  was  conscious. 

As  Loder  entered  he  was  sitting  by  the  cheerless 
grate,  the  ashes  of  yesterday's  fire  showing  charred 
and  dreary  where  the  sun  touched  them.  His  back 
was  to  the  light,  and  about  his  shoulders  was  an  old 
plaid  rug.  Behind  him  on  the  table  stood  a  cup,  a 
teapot,  and  the  can  of  milk;  farther  off  a  kettle  was 
set  to  boil  upon  a  tiny  spirit-stove. 

In  all  strong  situations  we  are  more  or  less  common- 
place. Loder's  first  remark  as  he  glanced  round  the 
disordered  room  seemed  strangely  inefficient. 

"Where's  Robins?"  he  asked,  in  a  brusque  voice. 
His  mind  teemed  with  big  considerations,  yet  this  was 
his  first  involuntary  question. 

Chilcote  had  started  at  the  entrance  of  his  visitor; 
now  he  sat  staring  at  him,  his  hands  holding  the  arms 
of  his  chair. 

258 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"Where's  Robins?"  Loder  asked  again. 

"I  don't  know.  She—  I—  We  didn't  hit  it  off. 
She's  gone — went  yesterday."  He  shivered  and  drew 
the  rug  about  him. 

"Chilcote — "  Loder  began,  sternly;  then  he  paused. 
There  was  something  in  the  other's  look  and  attitude 
that  arrested  him.  A  change  of  expression  passed 
over  his  own  face;  he  turned  about  with  an  abrupt 
gesture,  pulled  off  his  coat  and  threw  it  on  a  chair; 
then  crossing  deliberately  to  the  fireplace,  he  began 
to  rake  the  ashes  from  the  grate. 

Within  a  few  minutes  he  had  a  fire  crackling  where 
the  bed  of  dead  cinders  had  been,  and,  having  finished 
the  task,  he  rose  slowly  from  his  knees,  wiped  his 
hands,  and  crossed  to  the  table.  On  the  small  spirit- 
stove  the  kettle  had  boiled  and  the  cover  was  lifting 
and  falling  with  a  tinkling  sound.  Blowing  out  the 
flame,  Loder  picked  up  the  teapot,  and  with  hands 
that  were  evidently  accustomed  to  the  task  set  about 
making  the  tea. 

During  the  whole  operation  he  never  spoke,  though 
all  the  while  he  was  fully  conscious  of  Chilcote's  puzzled 
gaze.  The  tea  ready,  he  poured  it  into  the  cup  and 
carried  it  across  the  room. 

"Drink  this!"  he  said,  laconically.  "The  fire  will 
be  up  presently." 

Chilcote  extended  a  cold  and  shaky  hand.  "You 
see — "  he  began. 

But  Loder  checked  him  almost  savagely.  "I  do — 
as  well  as  though  I  had  followed  you  from  Piccadilly 
last  night!  You've  been  hanging  about,  God  knows 
where,  till  the  small  hours  of  the  morning;  then  you've 
come  back — slunk  back,  starving  for  your  damned 

259 


THE    MASQUERADER 

poison  and  shivering  with  cold.  You've  settled  the 
first  part  of  the  business,  but  the  cold  has  still  to  be 
reckoned  with.  Drink  the  tea.  I've  something  to  say 
to  you."  He  mastered  his  vehemence,  and,  walking  to 
the  window,  stood  looking  down  into  the  court.  His 
eyes  were  blank,  his  face  hard ;  his  ears  heard  nothing 
but  the  faint  sound  of  Chilcote's  swallowing,  the  click 
of  the  cup  against  his  teeth. 

For  a  time  that  seemed  interminable  he  stood 
motionless;  then,  when  he  judged  the  tea  finished,  he 
turned  slowly.  Chilcote  had  drawn  closer  to  the  fire. 
He  was  obviously  braced  by  the  warmth;  and  the 
apathy  that  hung  about  him  was  to  some  extent 
dispelled.  Still  moving  slowly,  Loder  went  towards 
him,  and,  relieving  him  of  the  empty  cup,  stood  looking 
down  at  him. 

"Chilcote,"  he  said,  very  quietly,  "I've  come  to  tell 
you  that  the  thing  must  end." 

After  he  spoke  there  was  a  prolonged  pause;  then, 
as  if  shaken  with  sudden  consciousness,  Chilcote  rose. 
The  rug  dropped  from  one  shoulder  and  hung  down 
ludicrously;  his  hand  caught  the  back  of  the  chair  for 
support;  his  unshaven  face  looked  absurd  and  repulsive 
in  its  sudden  expression  of  scared  inquiry.  Loder  in- 
voluntarily turned  away. 

"I  mean  it,"  he  said,  slowly.  "It's  over;  we've 
come  to  the  end." 

' '  But  why  ?"  Chilcote  articulated,  blankly.  "  Why  ? 
Why?"  In  his  confusion  he  could  think  of  no  better 
word. 

"Because  I  throw  it  up.  My  side  of  the  bargain's 
off!" 

Again    Chilcote's    lips    parted    stammeringly.     The 

260 


THE    MASQUERADER 

apathy  caused  by  physical  exhaustion  and  his  recently 
administered  drug  was  passing  from  him;  the  hope- 
lessly shattered  condition  of  mind  and  body  was  show- 
ing through  it  like  a  skeleton  through  a  thin  covering  of 
flesh. 

"  But  why  ?"  he  said  again.     "  Why  ?" 

Still  Loder  avoided  the  frightened  surprise  of  his 
eyes.     "Because  I  withdraw,"  he  answered,  doggedly. 

Then  suddenly  Chilcote's  tongue  was  loosened. 
"Loder,"  he  cried,  excitedly,  "you  can't  do  it!  God! 
man,  you  can't  do  it!"  To  reassure  himself  he 
laughed  —  a  painfully  thin  echo  of  his  old,  sarcastic 
laugh.  "If  it's  a  matter  of  greater  opportunity — " 
he  began,  "of  more  money — " 

But  Loder  turned  upon  him. 

"Be  quiet!"  he  said,  so  menacingly  that  the  other 
stopped.  Then  by  an  effort  he  conquered  himself.  "It's 
not  a  matter  of  money,  Chilcote,"  he  said,  quietly; 
"it's  a  matter  of  necessity."  He  brought  the  word 
out  with  difficulty. 

Chilcote  glanced  up.  "Necessity?"  he  repeated. 
"How?     Why?" 

The  reiteration  roused  Loder.  "Because  there  was 
a  great  scene  in  the  House  last  night,"  he  began, 
hurriedly;  "because  when  you  go  back  you'll  find  that 
Sefborough  has  smashed  up  over  the  assassination  of 
Sir  William  Brice-Field  at  Meshed,  and  that  you  have 
made  your  mark  in  a  big  speech;  and  because — " 
Abruptly  he  stopped.  The  thing  he  had  come  to  say 
— the  thing  he  had  meant  to  say — would  not  be  said. 
Either  his  tongue  or  his  resolution  failed  him,  and  for 
the  instant  he  stood  as  silent  and  almost  as  ill  at  ease 
as  his  companion.     Then  all  at  once  inspiration  came 

261 


THE    MASQUERADER 

to  him,  in  the  suggestion  of  a  wellnigh  forgotten  argu- 
ment by  which  he  might  influence  Chilcote  and  save 
his  own  self-respect.  "It's  all  over,  Chilcote,"  he 
said,  more  quietly;  "it  has  run  itself  out."  And  in  a 
dozen  sentences  he  sketched  the  story  of  Lillian 
Astrupp — her  past  relations  with  himself,  her  present 
suspicions.  It  was  not  what  he  had  meant  to  say, 
it  was  not  what  he  had  come  to  say;  but  it  served  the 
purpose — it  saved  him  humiliation. 

Chilcote  listened  to  the  last  word;  then,  as  the  other 
finished,  he  dropped  nervously  back  into  his  chair. 
"Good  heavens!  man,"  he  said,  "why  didn't  you  tell 
me — why  didn't  you  warn  me,  instead  of  filling  my 
mind  with  your  political  position  ?  Your  political  posi- 
tion!" He  laughed  unsteadily.  The  long  spells  of  in- 
dulgence that  had  weakened  his  already  maimed  facul- 
ties showed  in  the  laugh,  in  the  sudden  breaking  of  his 
voice.  'You  must  do  something,  Loder!"  he  added, 
nervously,  checking  his  amusement;  "you  must  do 
something!" 

Loder  looked  down  at  him.  "  No,"  he  said,  decisive- 
ly. "It's  your  turn  now.  It's  you  who've  got  to  do 
something." 

Chilcote's  face  turned  a  shade  grayer.  "I  can't," 
he  said,  below  his  breath. 

"Can't?  Oh  yes,  you  can.  We  can  all  do — any- 
thing. It's  not  too  late;  there's  just  sufficient  time. 
Chilcote,"  he  added,  suddenly,  "don't  you  see  that  the 
thing  has  been  madness  all  along — has  been  like  play- 
ing with  the  most  infernal  explosives  ?  You  may 
thank  whatever  you  have  faith  in  that  nobody  has 
been  smashed  up!  You  are  going  back.  Do  you 
understand  me?     You  are  going  back — now,  to-day, 

262 


THE    MASQUERADER 

before  it's  too  late."  There  was  a  great  change  in 
Loder;  his  strong,  imperturbable  face  was  stirred;  he 
was  moved  in  both  voice  and  manner.  Time  after 
time  he  repeated  his  injunction — reasoning,  expostu- 
lating, insisting.  It  almost  seemed  that  he  fought  some 
strenuous  invisible  force  rather  than  the  shattered  man 
before  him. 

Chilcote  moved  nervously  in  his  seat.  It  was  the 
first  real  clash  of  personalities.  He  felt  it — recognized 
it  by  instinct.  The  sense  of  domination  had  fallen  on 
him;  he  knew  himself  impotent  in  the  other's  hands. 
Whatever  he  might  attempt  in  moments  of  solitude,  he 
possessed  no  voice  in  presence  of  this  invincible  second 
self.  For  a  while  he  struggled — he  did  not  fight,  he 
struggled  to  resist  —  then,  lifting  his  eyes,  he  met 
Loder's.     "And  what  will  you  do?"  he  said,  weakly. 

Loder  returned  his  questioning  gaze;  but  almost 
immediately  he  turned  aside.  "I?"  he  said.  "Oh,  I 
shall  leave  London." 


XXVII 

BUT  Lcder  did  not  leave  London.     And  the  hour 
of   two    on    the    day    following   his   dismissal    of 
Chilcote  found  him  again  in  his  sitting-room. 

He  sat  at  the  centre-table  surrounded  by  a  cloud  of 
smoke;  a  pipe  was  between  his  lips  and  the  morning's 
newspapers  lay  in  a  heap  beside  his  elbow.  To  the 
student  of  humanity  his  attitude  was  intensely  interest- 
ing. It  was  the  attitude  of  a  man  trammelled  by  the 
knowledge  of  his  strength.  Before  him,  as  he  sat 
smoking,  stretched  a  future  of  absolute  nothingness; 
and  towards  this  blank  future  one  portion  of  his  con- 
sciousness— a  struggling  and  as  yet  scarcely  sentient 
portion  —  pushed  him  inevitably;  while  another  —  a 
vigorous,  persistent,  human  portion — cried  to  him  to 
pause.  So  actual,  so  clamorous  was  this  silent  mental 
combat  that  had  raged  unceasingly  since  the  moment 
of  his  renunciation  that  at  last  in  physical  response  to 
it  he  pushed  back  his  chair. 

"It's  too  late!"  he  said,  aloud.  "I'm  a  fool.  It's 
too  late!" 

Then  abruptly,  astonishingly,  as  though  in  direct 
response  to  his  spoken  thought,  the  door  opened  and 
Chilcote  walked  into  the  room. 

Slowly  Loder  rose  and  stared  at  him.  The  feeling  he 
acknowledged  to  himself  was  anger;  but  below  the 
anger  a  very  different  sensation  ran  riotously  strong. 

264 


THE    MASQUERADER 

And  it  was  in  time  to  this  second  feeling,  this  sudden, 
lawless  joy,  that  his  pulses  beat  as  he  turned  a  cold  face 
on  the  intruder. 

"Well?"  he  said,  sternly. 

But  Chilcote  was  impervious  to  sternness.  He  was 
mentally  shaken  and  distressed,  though  outwardly  ir- 
reproachable, even  to  the  violets  in  the  lapel  of  his 
coat — the  violets  that  for  a  week  past  had  been  brought 
each  morning  to  the  door  of  Loder's  rooms  by  Eve's 
maid.  For  one  second,  as  Loder's  eyes  rested  on  the 
flowers,  a  sting  of  ungovernable  jealousy  shot  through 
him;  then  as  suddenly  it  died  away,  superseded  by 
another  feeling — a  feeling  of  new,  spontaneous  joy. 
Worn  by  Chilcote  or  by  himself,  the  flowers  were  a 
symbol ! 

"Well?"  he  said  again,  in  a  gentler  voice. 

Chilcote  had  walked  to  the  table  and  laid  down  his 
hat.  His  face  was  white  and  the  muscles  of  his  lips 
twitched  nervously  as  he  drew  off  his  gloves. 

"Thank  Heaven,  you're  here!"  he  said,  shortly. 
"Give  me  something  to  drink." 

In  silence  Loder  brought  out  the  whiskey  and  set 
it  on  the  table;  then  instinctively  he  turned  aside. 
As  plainly  as  though  he  saw  the  action,  he  mental- 
ly figured  Chilcote's  furtive  glance,  the  furtive  move- 
ment of  his  fingers  to  his  waistcoat-pocket,  the  hasty 
dropping  of  the  tabloids  into  the  glass.  For  an  in- 
stant the  sense  of  his  tacit  connivance  came  to  him 
sharply;  the  next,  he  flung  it  from  him.  The  human, 
inner  voice  was  whispering  its  old  watchword.  The 
strong  man  has  no  time  to  waste  over  his  weaker 
brother! 

When  he  heard  Chilcote  lay  down  his  tumbler  he 
18  265 


THE    MASQUERADER 

looked  back  again.  "Well,  what  is  it?"  he  said. 
"What  have  you  come  for?"  He  strove  resolutely 
to  keep  his  voice  severe,  but,  try  as  he  might,  he 
could  not  quite  subdue  the  eager  force  that  lay  behind 
his  words.  Once  again,  as  on  the  night  of  their  second 
interchange,  life  had  become  a  phoenix,  rising  to  fresh 
existence  even  while  he  sifted  its  ashes.  "Well?" 
he  said,  once  again. 

Chilcote  had  set  down  his  glass.  He  was  nervously 
passing  his  handkerchief  across  his  lips.  There  was 
something  in  the  gesture  that  attracted  Loder.  Look- 
ing at  him  more  attentively,  he  saw  what  his  own 
feelings  and  the  other's  conventional  dress  had  blinded 
him  to — the  almost  piteous  panic  and  excitement  in  his 
visitor's  eyes. 

"Something's  gone  wrong!"  he  said,  with  abrupt 
intuition. 

Chilcote  started.  "Yes — no — that  is,  yes,"  he  stam- 
mered. 

Loder  moved  round  the  table.  "Something's  gone 
wrong,"  he  repeated.     "And  you've  come  to  tell  me." 

The  tone  unnerved  Chilcote;  he  suddenly  dropped 
into  a  chair.  "It — it  wasn't  my  fault,"  he  began.  "I 
— I  have  had  a  horrible  time!" 

Loder's  lips  tightened.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "yes — I 
understand." 

The  other  glanced  up  with  a  gleam  of  his  old  suspicion 
" 'Twas  all  my  nerves,  Loder — " 

"Of  course.  Yes,  of  course."  Loder's  interruption 
was  curt. 

Chilcote  eyed  him  doubtfully.  Then  recollection 
took  the  place  of  doubt,  and  a  change  passed  over 
his    expression.     "It    wasn't    my    fault,"    he    began, 

266 


THE    MASQUERADER 

hastily.     "On  my  soul,  it  wasn't!     It  was  Crapham's 
beastly  fault  for  showing  her  into  the  morning-room — " 

Loder  kept  silent.  His  curiosity  had  flared  into 
sudden  life  at  the  other's  words,  but  he  feared  to 
break  the  shattered  train  of  thought  even  by  a  word. 

In  the  silence  Chilcote  moved  uneasily.  "You  see," 
he  went  on,  at  last,  "when  I  was  here  with  you  I — I  felt 
strong.     I — I — "     He  stopped. 

"Yes,  yes.  When  you  were  here  with  me  you  felt 
strong." 

"Yes,  that's  it.  While  I  was  here,  I  felt  I  could  do 
the  thing.  But  when  I  went  home — when  I  went  up 
to  my  rooms — "  Again  he  paused,  passing  his  hand- 
kerchief across  his  forehead. 

"When  you  went  up  to  your  rooms ?"  Loder  strove 
hard  to  keep  his  control. 

"To  my  room — ?  Oh,  I — I  forget  about  that.  I 
forget  about  the  night — "  He  hesitated  confusedly. 
"All  I  remember  is  the  coming  down  to  breakfast  next 
morning — this  morning — at  twelve  o'clock — " 

Loder  turned  to  the  table  and  poured  himself  out 
some  whiskey.  "Yes,"  he  acquiesced,  in  a  very  quiet 
voice. 

At  the  word  Chilcote  rose  from  his  seat.  His  dis- 
quietude was  very  evident.  "Oh,  there  was  break- 
fast on  the  table  when  I  came  down-stairs — breakfast 
with  flowers  and  a  horrible,  dazzling  glare  of  sun.  It 
was  then,  Loder,  as  I  stood  and  looked  into  the  room, 
that  the  impossibility  of  it  all  came  to  me — that  I 
knew  I  couldn't  stand  it — couldn't  go  on." 

Loder  swallowed  his  whiskey  slowly.  His  sense  of 
overpowering  curiosity  held  him  very  still;  but  he 
made  no  effort  to  prompt  his  companion. 

267 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Again  Chilcote  shifted  his  position  agitatedly.  "It 
had  to  be  done,"  he  said,  disjointedly.  "  I  had  to  do  it 
— then  and  there.  The  things  were  on  the  bureau — 
the  pens  and  ink  and  telegraph  forms.  They  tempted 
me." 

Loder  laid  down  his  glass  suddenly.  An  exclama- 
tion rose  to  his  lips,  but  he  checked  it. 

At  the  slight  sound  of  the  tumbler  touching  the 
table  Chilcote  turned;  but  there  was  no  expression  on 
the  other's  face  to  affright  him. 

"They  tempted  me,"  he  repeated,  hastily.  "They 
seemed  like  magnets — they  seemed  to  draw  me  tow- 
ards them.  I  sat  at  the  bureau  staring  at  them  for  a 
long  time;  then  a  terrible  compulsion  seized  me — 
something  you  could  never  understand — and  I  caught 
up  the  nearest  pen  and  wrote  just  what  was  in  my 
mind.  It  wasn't  a  telegram,  properly  speaking  —  it 
was  more  a  letter.  I  wanted  you  back  and  I  had  to 
make  myself  plain.  The  writing  of  the  message 
seemed  to  steady  me;  the  mere  forming  of  the  words 
quieted  my  mind.  I  was  almost  cool  when  I  got  up 
from  the  bureau  and  pressed  the  bell — " 

"The  bell?" 

"Yes.  I  rang  for  a  servant.  I  had  to  send  the 
wire  myself,  so  I  had  to  get  a  cab."  His  voice  rose 
to  irritability.  "I  pressed  the  bell  several  times;  but 
the  thing  had  gone  wrong — 'twouldn't  work.  At  last  I 
gave  it  up  and  went  into  the  corridor  to  call  some  one." 

"Well?"  In  the  intense  suspense  of  the  moment 
the  word  escaped  Loder. 

"Oh,  I  went  out  of  the  room,  but  there  at  the  door, 
before  I  could  call  anybody,  I  knocked  up  against 
that   idiot   Greening.     He   was   looking   for   me — for 

268 


THE    MASQUERADER 

you,  rather — about  some  beastly  Wark  affair.  I  tried 
to  explain  that  I  wasn't  in  a  state  for  business;  I  tried 
to  shake  him  off,  but  he  was  worse  than  Blessington! 
At  last,  to  be  rid  of  the  fellow,  I  went  with  him  to  the 
study—" 

"But  the  telegram?"  Loder  began;  then  again  he 
checked  himself.  "  Yes — yes — I  understand,"  he  add- 
ed, quietly. 

"I'm  getting  to  the  telegram!  I  wish  you  wouldn't 
jar  me  with  sudden  questions.  I  wasn't  in  the  study 
more  than  a  minute — more  than  five  or  six  minutes — " 
His  voice  became  confused ;  the  strain  of  the  connected 
recital  was  telling  upon  him.  With  nervous  haste  he 
made  a  rush  for  the  end  of  his  story.  "  I  wasn't  more 
than  seven  or  eight  minutes  in  the  study;  then,  as  I 
came  down-stairs,  Crapham  met  me  in  the  hall.  He 
told  me  that  Lillian  Astrupp  had  called  and  wished  to 
see  me.  And  that  he  had  shown  her  into  the  morning- 
room — " 

"The  morning -room?"  Loder  suddenly  stepped 
back  from  the  table.  "The  morning-room?  With 
your  telegram  lying  on  the  bureau  ?" 

His  sudden  speech  and  movement  startled  Chilcote. 
The  blood  rushed  to  his  face,  then  died  out,  leaving 
it  ashen.  "Don't  do  that,  Loder!"  he  cried.  "I— I 
can't  bear  it!" 

With  an  immense  effort  Loder  controlled  himself. 
"Sorry!"  he  said.     "Goon!" 

"I'm  going  on!     I  tell  you  I'm  going  on.     I  got  a 
horrid  shock  when  Crapham  told  me.     Your  story  came 
clattering  through  my  mind.     I  knew  Lillian  had  come 
to  see  you — I  knew  there  was  going  to  be  a  scene — " 
"But  the  telegram ?     The  telegram ?" 

269 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Chilcote  paid  no  heed  to  the  interruption.  He  was 
following  his  own  train  of  ideas.  "I  knew  she  had 
come  to  see  you — I  knew  there  was  going  to  be  a  scene. 
When  I  got  to  the  morning-room  my  hand  was  shaking 
so  that  I  could  scarcely  turn  the  handle;  then,  as  the 
door  opened,  I  could  have  cried  out  with  relief.  Eve 
was  there  as  well!" 

"Eve?" 

"Yes.  I  don't  think  I  was  ever  so  glad  to  see  her 
in  my  life."  He  laughed  almost  hysterically.  "I 
was  quite  civil  to  her,  and  she  was — quite  sweet  to 
me — "     Again  he  laughed. 

Loder's  lips  tightened. 

"You  see,  it  saved  the  situation.  Even  if  Lillian 
wanted  to  be  nasty,  she  couldn't,  while  Eve  was  there. 
We  talked  for  about  ten  minutes.  We  were  quite 
an  amiable  trio.  Then  Lillian  told  me  why  she'd 
called.  She  wanted  me  to  make  a  fourth  in  a  theatre 
party  at  the  'Arcadian'  to-night,  and  I — I  was  so 
pleased  and  so  relieved  that  I  said  yes!"  He  paused 
and  laughed  again  unsteadily. 

In  his  tense  anxiety,  Loder  ground  his  heel  into  the 
floor.     "Goon!"  he  said,  fiercely.     "Goon!" 

"Don't!"  Chilcote  exclaimed.  "I'm  going  on — I'm 
going  on."  He  passed  his  handkerchief  across  his  lips. 
"We  talked  for  ten  minutes  or  so,  and  then  Lillian  left. 
I  went  with  her  to  the  hall  door,  but  Crapham  was 
there  too — so  I  was  still  safe.  She  laughed  and  chatted 
and  seemed  in  high  spirits  as  we  crossed  the  hall,  and 
she  was  still  smiling  as  she  waved  to  me  from  her  motor. 
But  then,  Loder — then,  as  I  stood  in  the  hall,  it  all 
came  to  me  suddenly.  I  remembered  that  Lillian 
must  have  been  alone  in  the  morning-room  before  Eve 

270 


THE    MASQUERADER 

found  her!  I  remembered  the  telegram!  I  ran  back 
to  the  room,  meaning  to  question  Eve  as  to  how  long 
Lillian  had  been  alone,  but  she  had  left  the  room.  I 
ran  to  the  bureau — but  the  telegram  wasn't  there!" 

"Gone?" 

"Yes,  gone.     That's  why  I've  come  straight  here." 

For  a  moment  they  confronted  each  other.  Then, 
moved  by  a  sudden  impulse,  Loder  pushed  Chilcote 
aside  and  crossed  the  room.  An  instant  later  the  open- 
ing and  shutting  of  doors,  the  hasty  pulling  out  of 
drawers  and  moving  of  boxes,  came  from  the  bedroom. 

Chilcote,  shaken  and  nervous,  stood  for  a  minute 
where  his  companion  had  left  him;  at  last,  impelled  by 
curiosity,  he  too  crossed  the  narrow  passage  and  en- 
tered the  second  room. 

The  full  light  streamed  in  through  the  open  window; 
the  keen  spring  air  blew  freshly  across  the  house-tops ; 
and  on  the  window-sill  a  band  of  grimy,  joyous  spar- 
rows twittered  and  preened  themselves.  In  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room  stood  Loder.  His  coat  was  off,  and 
round  him  on  chairs  and  floor  lay  an  array  of  waist- 
coats, gloves,  and  ties. 

For  a  space  Chilcote  stood  in  the  doorway  staring  at 
him;  then  his  lips  parted  and  he  took  a  step  forward. 
"Loder — "  he  said,  anxiously.  "Loder,  what  are  you 
going  to  do?" 

Loder  turned.  His  shoulders  were  stiff,  his  face 
alight  with  energy.  "I'm  going  back,"  he  said,  "to 
unravel  the  tangle  you  have  made." 


XXVIII 

L ODER'S  plan  of  action  was  arrived  at  before  he 
j  reached  Trafalgar  Square.  The  facts  of  the 
case  were  simple.  Chilcote  had  left  an  incriminating 
telegram  on  the  bureau  in  the  morning-room  at 
Grosvenor  Square;  by  an  unlucky  chance  Lillian 
Astrupp  had  been  shown  up  into  that  room,  where  she 
had  remained  alone  until  the  moment  that  Eve, 
either  by  request  or  by  accident,  had  found  her  there. 
The  facts  resolved  themselves  into  one  question. 
What  use  had  Lillian  made  of  those  solitary  mo- 
ments ?  Without  deviation,  Loder's  mind  turned 
towards  one  answer.  Lillian  was  not  the  woman  to 
lose  an  opportunity,  whether  the  space  at  her  com- 
mand were  long  or  short.  True,  Eve  too  had  been 
alone  in  the  room,  while  Chilcote  had  accompanied 
Lillian  to  the  door;  but  of  this  he  made  small  account. 
Eve  had  been  there,  but  Lillian  had  been  there  first. 
Judging  by  precedent,  by  personal  character,  by  all 
human  probability,  it  was  not  to  be  supposed  that 
anything  would  have  been  left  for  the  second  comer. 
So  convinced  was  he  that,  reaching  Trafalgar  Square, 
he  stopped  and  hailed  a  hansom. 

"Cadogan  Gardens!"  he  called.     "No.  33." 
The  moments  seemed  very  few  before  the  cab  drew 
up  beside  the  curb  and  he  caught  his  second  glimpse  of 
the  enamelled  door  with  its  silver  fittings.     The  white 

272 


THE   MASQUERADER 

and  silver  gleamed  in  the  sunshine;  banks  of  cream- 
colored  hyacinths  clustered  on  the  window-sills,  filling 
the  clear  air  with  a  warm  and  fragrant  scent.  With 
that  strange  sensation  of  having  lived  through  the 
scene  before,  Loder  left  the  cab  and  walked  up  the 
steps.  Instantly  he  pressed  the  bell  the  door  was 
opened  by  Lillian's  discreet,  deferential  man-ser- 
vant. 

"Is  Lady  Astrupp  at  home?"  he  asked. 

The  man  looked  thoughtful.  "  Her  ladyship  lunched 
at  home,  sir — "  he  began,  cautiously. 

But  Loder  interrupted  him.  "Ask  her  to  see  me," 
he  said,  laconically. 

The  servant  expressed  no  surprise.  His  only  com- 
ment was  to  throw  the  door  wide. 

"If  you'll  wait  in  the  white  room,  sir,"  he  said,  "I'll 
inform  her  ladyship."  Chilcote  was  evidently  a  fre- 
quent and  a  favored  visitor. 

In  this  manner  Loder  for  the  second  time  entered 
the  house  so  unfamiliar — and  yet  so  familiar  in  all 
that  it  suggested.  Entering  the  drawing-room,  he  had 
leisure  to  look  about  him.  It  was  a  beautiful  room, 
large  and  lofty;  luxury  was  evident  on  every  hand, 
but  it  was  not  the  luxury  that  palls  or  offends. 
Each  object  was  graceful,  and  possessed  its  own  in- 
trinsic value.  The  atmosphere  was  too  effeminate  to 
appeal  to  him,  but  he  acknowledged  the  taste  and 
artistic  delicacy  it  conveyed.  Almost  at  the  mo- 
ment of  acknowledgment  the  door  opened  to  admit 
Lillian. 

She  wore  the  same  gown  of  pale -colored  cloth, 
warmed  and  softened  by  rich  furs,  that  she  had  worn 
on  the  day  she  and  Chilcote  had  driven  in  the  park. 

273 


THE    MASQUERADER 

She  was  drawing  on  her  gloves  as  she  came  into  the 
room;  and  pausing  near  the  door,  she  looked  across  at 
Loder  and,  laughed  in  her  slow,  amused  way. 

"  I  thought  it  would  be  you,"  she  said,  enigmatically. 

Loder  came  forward.  "  You  expected  me  ?"  he  said, 
guardedly.  A  sudden  conviction  filled  him  that  it  was 
not  the  evidence  of  her  eyes,  but  something  at  once 
subtler  and  more  definite,  that  prompted  her  rec- 
ognition of  him. 

She  smiled.  "Why  should  I  expect  you?  On  the 
contrary,  I'm  waiting  to  know  why  you're  here?" 

He  was  silent  for  an  instant;  then  he  answered  in  her 
own  light  tone.  "As  far  as  that  goes,"  he  said,  "let's 
make  it  my  duty  call — having  dined  with  you.  I'm 
an  old-fashioned  person." 

For  a  full  second  she  surveyed  him  amusedly ;  then  at 
last  she  spoke.  "My  dear  Jack" — she  laid  particular 
stress  on  the  name — "  I  never  imagined  you  punctilious. 
I  should  have  thought  bohemian  would  have  been  more 
the  word." 

Loder  felt  disconcerted  and  annoyed.  Either,  like 
himself,  she  was  fishing  for  information,  or  she  was 
deliberately  playing  with  him.  In  his  perplexity  he 
glanced  across  the  room  towards  the  fireplace. 

Lillian  saw  the  look.  "Won't  you  sit  down?"  she 
said,  indicating  the  couch.  "I  promise  not  to  make 
you  smoke.  I  sha'n't  even  ask  you  to  take  off  your 
gloves!" 

Loder  made  no  movement.  His  mind  was  un- 
pleasantly upset.  It  was  nearly  a  fortnight  since  he 
had  seen  Lillian,  and  in  the  interval  her  attitude  had 
changed,  and  the  change  puzzled  him.  It  might  mean 
the  philosophy  of  a  woman  who,  knowing  herself  with- 

274 


I    THOUGHT    IT    WOULD    BE    YOU,      SHE    SAID 


THE    MASQUERADER 

out  adequate  weapons,  withdraws  from  a  combat 
that  has  proved  fruitless;  or  it  might  imply  the  merely- 
catlike  desire  to  toy  with  a  certainty.  He  looked 
quickly  at  the  delicate  face,  the  green  eyes  somewhat 
obliquely  set,  the  unreliable  mouth;  and  instantly  he 
inclined  to  the  latter  theory.  The  conviction  that  she 
possessed  the  telegram  filled  him  suddenly,  and  with 
it  came  the  desire  to  put  his  belief  to  the  test — to  know 
beyond  question  whether  her  smiling  unconcern  meant 
malice  or  mere  entertainment. 

"When  you  first  came  into  the  room,"  he  said, 
quietly,  "you  said  'I  thought  it  would  be  you.'  Why 
did  you  say  that?" 

Again  she  smiled — the  smile  that  might  be  malicious 
or  might  be  merely  amused.  "Oh,"  she  answered  at 
last,  "I  only  meant  that  though  I  had  been  told  Jack 
Chilcote  wanted  me,  it  wasn't  Jack  Chilcote  I  expected 
to  see!" 

After  her  statement  there  was  a  pause.  Loder's 
position  was  difficult.  Instinctively  convinced  that, 
strong  in  the  possession  of  her  proof,  she  was  enjoying 
his  tantalized  discomfort,  he  yet  craved  the  actual 
evidence  that  should  set  his  suspicions  to  rest.  Acting 
upon  the  desire,  he  made  a  new  beginning. 

"Do  you  know  why  I  came?"  he  asked. 

Lillian  looked  up  innocently.  "It's  so  hard  to  be 
certain  of  anything  in  this  world,"  she  said.  "But 
one  is  always  at  liberty  to  guess." 

Again  he  was  perplexed.  Her  attitude  was  not  quite 
the  attitude  of  one  who  controls  the  game,  and  yet — 
He  looked  at  her  with  a  puzzled  scrutiny.  Women  for 
him  had  always  spelled  the  incomprehensible;  he  was 
at  his  best,  his  strongest,  his  surest  in  the  presence  of 

275 


THE    MASQUERADER 

men.  Feeling  his  disadvantage,  yet  determined  to 
gain  his  end,  he  made  a  last  attempt. 

"How  did  you  amuse  yourself  at  Grosvenor  Square 
this  morning  before  Eve  came  to  you?"  he  asked. 
The  effort  was  awkwardly  blunt,  but  it  was  direct. 

Lillian  was  buttoning  her  glove.  She  did  not  raise 
her  head  as  he  spoke,  but  her  fingers  paused  in  their 
task.  For  a  second  she  remained  motionless,  then  she 
looked  up  slowly. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  sweetly,  "so  I  was  right  in  my 
guess  ?  You  did  come  to  find  out  whether  I  sat  in  the 
morning-room  with  my  hands  in  my  lap — or  wandered 
about  in  search  of  entertainment?" 

Loder  colored  with  annoyance  and  apprehension. 
Every  look,  every  tone  of  Lillian's  was  distasteful  to 
him.  No  microscope  could  have  revealed  her  more 
fully  to  him  than  did  his  own  eyesight.  But  it  was 
not  the  moment  for  personal  antipathies;  there  were 
other  interests  than  his  own  at  stake.  With  new  res- 
olution he  returned  her  glance. 

"Then  I  must  still  ask  my  first  question,  why  did 
you  say,  '  I  thought  it  would  be  you  ?'  "  His  gaze  was 
direct — so  direct  that  it  disconcerted  her.  She  laughed 
a  little  uneasily. 

"Because  I  knew." 

"How  did  you  know?" 

"Because — "  she  began;  then  again  she  laughed. 
"Because,"  she  added,  quickly,  as  if  moved  by  a  fresh 
impulse,  "Jack  Chilcote  made  it  very  obvious  to  any 
one  who  was  in  his  morning-room  at  twelve  o'clock  to- 
day that  it  would  be  you  and  not  he  who  would  be 
found  filling  his  place  this  afternoon!  It's  all  very 
well  to  talk  about  honor,  but  when  one  walks  into  an 

276 


THE    MASQUERADER 

empty  room  and  sees  a  telegram  as  long  as  a  letter  open 
on  a  bureau — " 

But  her  sentence  was  never  finished.  Loder  had 
heard  what  he  came  to  hear;  any  confession  she 
might  have  to  offer  was  of  no  moment  in  his  eyes. 

"My  dear  girl,"  he  broke  in,  brusquely,  "don't 
trouble!  I  should  make  a  most  unsatisfactory  father 
confessor."  He  spoke  quickly.  His  color  was  still 
high,  but  not  of  annoyance.  His  suspense  was  trans- 
formed into  unpleasant  certainty;  but  the  exchange 
left  him  surer  of  himself.  His  perplexity  had  dropped 
to  a  quiet  sense  of  self-reliance;  his  paramount  desire 
was  for  solitude  in  which  to  prepare  for  the  task  that 
lay  before  him;  the  most  congenial  task  the  world  pos- 
sessed— the  unravelling  of  Chilcote's  tangled  skeins. 
Looking  into  Lillian's  eyes,  he  smiled.  "Good-bye!" 
he  said,  holding  out  his  hand.  "  I  think  we've  finished 
— for  to-day." 

She  slowly  extended  her  fingers.  Her  expression 
and  attitude  were  slightly  puzzled — a  puzzlement  that 
was  either  spontaneous  or  singularly  well  assumed. 
As  their  hands  touched  she  smiled  again. 

"Will  you  drop  in  at  the  'Arcadian'  to-night?" 
she  said.  "It's  the  dramatized  version  of  Other  Men 's 
Shoes!  The  temptation  to  make  you  see  it  was  too 
irresistible — as  you  know." 

There  was  a  pause  while  she  waited  for  his  answer — 
her  head  inclined  to  one  side,  her  green  eyes  gleaming. 

Loder,  conscious  of  her  regard,  hesitated  for  a  mo- 
ment. Then  his  face  cleared.  "  Right !"  he  said,  slowly. 
"'The  Arcadian'  to-night!" 


XXIX 

LODER'S  frame  of  mind  as  lie  left  Cadogan  Gar- 
j  dens  was  peculiar.  Once  more  he  was  living  in 
the  present  —  the  forceful,  exhilarating  present,  and 
the  knowledge  braced  him.  Upon  one  point  his 
mind  was  satisfied.  Lillian  Astrupp  had  found  the 
telegram,  and  it  remained  to  him  to  render  her  find 
valueless.  How  he  proposed  to  do  this,  how  he  pro- 
posed to  come  out  triumphant  in  face  of  such  a  situa- 
tion, was  a  matter  that  as  yet  was  shapeless  in  his 
mind ;  nevertheless,  the  danger — the  sense  of  impending 
conflict — had  a  savor  of  life  after  the  inaction  of  the 
day  and  night  just  passed.  Chilcote  in  his  weakness 
and  his  entanglement  had  turned  to  him;  and  he  in  his 
strength  and  capacity  had  responded  to  the  appeal. 

His  step  was  firm  and  his  bearing  assured  as  he 
turned  into  Grosvenor  Square  and  walked  towards  the 
familiar  house. 

The  habit  of  self-deceit  is  as  insidious  and  tenacious 
as  any  vice.  For  one  moment  on  the  night  of  his  great 
speech,  as  he  leaned  out  of  Chilcote 's  carriage  and  met 
Chilcote's  eyes,  Loder  had  seen  himself — and  under 
the  shock  of  revelation  had  taken  decisive  action.  But 
in  the  hours  subsequent  to  that  action  the  plausible, 
inner  voice  had  whispered  unceasingly,  soothing  his 
wounded  self-esteem,  rebuilding  stone  by  stone  the 
temple  of  his  egotism;  until  at  last  when  Chilcote, 

278 


THE    MASQUERADER 

panic-stricken  at  his  own  action,  had  burst  into  his 
rooms  ready  to  plead  or  to  coerce,  he  had  found  no 
need  for  either  coercion  or  entreaty.  By  a  power  more 
subtle  and  effective  than  any  at  his  command,  Loder 
had  been  prepared  for  his  coming — unconsciously  ready 
with  an  acquiescence  before  his  appeal  had  been  made. 
It  was  the  fruit  of  this  preparation,  the  inevitable  out- 
come of  it,  that  strengthened  his  step  and  steadied  his 
hand  as  he  mounted  the  steps  and  opened  the  hall 
door  of  Chilcote's  house  on  that  eventful  afternoon. 

The  dignity,  the  air  of  quiet  solidity,  impressed  him 
as  it  never  failed  to  do,  as  he  crossed  the  large  hall  and 
ascended  the  stairs  —  the  same  stairs  that  he  had 
passed  down  almost  as  an  outcast  not  so  many  hours 
before.  He  was  filled  with  the  sense  of  things  re- 
gained ;  belief  in  his  own  star  lifted  him  as  it  had  done 
a  hundred  times  before  in  these  same  surroundings. 

He  quickened  his  steps  as  the  sensation  came  to  him. 
Then,  reaching  the  head  of  the  stairs,  he  turned 
directly  towards  Eve's  sitting-room,  and,  gaining  the 
door,  knocked.  The  strength  of  his  eagerness,  the 
quick  beating  of  his  pulse  as  he  waited  for  a  response, 
surprised  him.  He  had  told  himself  many  times  that 
his  passion,  however  strong,  would  never  again  conquer 
as  it  had  done  two  nights  ago — and  the  fact  that  he 
had  come  thus  candidly  to  Eve's  room  was  to  his 
mind  a  proof  that  temptation  could  be  dared.  Never- 
theless there  was  something  disconcerting  to  a  strong 
man  in  this  merely  physical  perturbation;  and  when 
Eve's  voice  came  to  him,  giving  permission  to  enter,  he 
paused  for  an  instant  to  steady  himself;  then  with 
sudden  decision  he  opened  the  door  and  walked  into 
the  room. 

279 


THE    MASQUERADER 

The  blinds  were  partly  drawn,  there  was  a  scent  of 
violets  in  the  air,  and  a  fire  glowed  warmly  in  the 
grate.  He  noted  these  things  carefully,  telling  him- 
self that  a  man  should  always  be  alertly  sensible  of  his 
surroundings;  then  all  at  once  the  nice  balancing  of 
detail  suddenly  gave  way.  He  forgot  everything  but  the 
one  circumstance  that  Eve  was  standing  in  the  window 
— her  back  to  the  light,  her  face  towards  him.  With 
his  pulses  beating  faster  and  an  unsteady  sensation  in 
his  brain,  he  moved  forward  holding  out  his  hand. 

"Eve — ?"  he  said  below  his  breath. 

But  Eve  remained  motionless.  As  he  came  into  the 
room  she  had  glanced  at  him — a  glance  of  quick, 
searching  question;  then  with  equal  suddenness  she  had 
averted  her  eyes.  As  he  drew  close  to  her  now,  she 
remained  immovable. 

"Eve — "  he  said  again.  "I  wanted  to  see  you — 
I  wanted  to  explain  about  yesterday  and  about  this 
morning."  He  paused,  suddenly  disturbed.  The  full 
remembrance  of  the  scene  in  the  brougham  had  surged 
up  at  sight  of  her — had  risen  a  fierce,  unquenchable 
recollection.  "Eve — "  he  began  again  in  a  new, 
abrupt  tone. 

And  then  it  was  that  Eve  showed  herself  in  a  fresh 
light.  From  his  entrance  into  the  room  she  had 
stayed  motionless,  save  for  her  first  glance  of  acute 
inquiry;  but  now  her  demeanor  changed.  For  almost 
the  first  time  in  Loder's  knowledge  of  her  the  vitality 
and  force  that  he  had  vaguely  apprehended  below 
her  quiet,  serene  exterior  sprang  up  like  a  flame  within 
whose  radius  things  are  illuminated.  With  a  quick 
gesture  she  turned  towards  him,  her  warm  color  deep- 
ening, her  eyes  suddenly  alight. 

280 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"I  understand,"  she  said,  "  I  understand.  Don't  try 
to  explain!  Can't  you  see  that  it's  enough  to — to  see 
you  as  you  are — ?" 

Loder  was  surprised.  Remembering  their  last  pas- 
sionate scene,  and  the  damper  Chilcote's  subse- 
quent presence  must  inevitably  have  cast  upon  it, 
he  had  expected  to  be  doubtfully  received;  but  the 
reality  of  the  reception  left  him  bewildered.  Eve's 
manner  was  not  that  of  the  ill-used  wife;  its  vehemence, 
its  note  of  desire  and  depreciation,  were  more  sug- 
gestive of  his  own  ardent  seizing  of  the  present,  as 
distinguished  from  past  or  future.  With  an  odd  sense 
of  confusion  he  turned  to  her  afresh. 

"Then  I  am  forgiven  ?"  he  said.  And  unconsciously, 
as  he  moved  nearer,  he  touched  her  arm. 

At  his  touch  she  started.  All  the  yielding  sweetness, 
all  the  submission,  that  had  marked  her  two  nights 
ago  was  gone;  in  its  place  she  was  possessed  by  a 
curious  excitement  that  stirred  while  it  perplexed. 

Loder,  moved  by  the  sensation,  took  another  step  for- 
ward.   "Then  I  am  forgiven  ?"  he  repeated,  more  softly. 

Her  face  was  averted  as  he  spoke,  but  he  felt  her 
arm  quiver;  and  when  at  last  she  lifted  her  head, 
their  eyes  met.  Neither  spoke,  but  in  an  instant 
Loder's  arms  were  round  her. 

For  a  long,  silent  space  they  stood  holding  each  other 
closely.  Then,  with  a  sharp  movement,  Eve  freed 
herself.  Her  color  was  still  high,  her  eyes  still  peculiar- 
ly bright,  but  the  bunch  of  violets  she  had  worn  in  her 
belt  had  fallen  to  the  ground. 

"John — "  she  said,  quickly;  but  on  the  word  her 
breath    caught.     With    a    touch    of   nervousness    she 
stooped  to  pick  up  the  flowers. 
x<>  281 


THE   MASQUERADER 

Loder  noticed  both  voice  and  gesture.  "What  is 
it?"  he  said.     "What  were  you  going  to  say?" 

But  she  made  no  answer.  For  a  second  longer  she 
searched  for  the  violets;  then,  as  he  bent  to  assist  her, 
she  stood  up  quickly  and  laughed — a  short,  embarrass- 
ed laugh. 

"How  absurd  and  nervous  I  am!"  she  exclaimed. 
"  Like  a  school-girl  instead  of  a  woman  of  twenty-four. 
You  must  help  me  to  be  sensible."  Her  cheeks  still 
burned,  her  manner  was  still  excited,  like  one  who  holds 
an  emotion  or  an  impulse  at  bay. 

Loder  looked  at  her  uncertainly.  "Eve — "  he 
began  afresh  with  his  odd,  characteristic  perseverance, 
but  she  instantly  checked  him.  There  was  a  finality,  a 
faint  suggestion  of  fear,  in  her  protest. 

"Don't!"  she  said.  "Don't!  I  don't  want  explana- 
tions. I  want  to — to  enjoy  the  moment  without  hav- 
ing things  analyzed  or  smoothed  away.  Can't  you  un- 
derstand ?  Can't  you  see  that  I'm  wonderfully,  terribly 
happy  to — to  have  you — as  you  are!"  Again  her  voice 
broke — a  break  that  might  have  been  a  laugh  or  a  sob. 

The  sound  was  an  emotional  crisis,  as  such  a  sound 
invariably  is.  It  arrested  and  steadied  her.  For  a 
moment  she  stood  absolutely  still;  then,  with  some- 
thing very  closely  resembling  her  old  repose  of  manner, 
she  stooped  again  and  quietly  picked  up  the  flowers 
still  lying  at  her  feet. 

"Now,"  she  said,  quietly,  "I  must  say  what  I've 
wanted  to  say  all  along.  How  does  it  feel  to  be  a 
great  man?"  Her  manner  was  controlled,  she  looked 
at  him  evenly  and  directly ;  save  for  the  faint  vibration 
in  her  voice  there  was  nothing  to  indicate  the  tumult 
of  a  moment  ago. 

282 


"'how  does  it  feel  to  be  a  great  man?' 


THE    MASQUERADER 

But  Loder  was  still  uncertain.  He  caught  her  hand, 
his  eyes  searching  hers. 

"But  Eve—"  he  began. 

Then  Eve  played  the  last  card  in  her  mysterious 
game.  Laughing  quickly  and  nervously,  she  freed 
her  hand  and  laid  it  over  his  mouth. 

"No!"  she  said.  "Not  one  word!  All  this  past 
fortnight  has  belonged  to  you;  now  it's  my  turn. 
To-day  is  mine." 


XXX 

AND  so,  once  again,  the  woman  conquered.  What- 
^  ever  Eve's  intentions  were,  whatever  she  wished 
to  evade  or  ward  off,  she  was  successful  in  gaining  her 
end.  For  more  than  two  hours  she  kept  Loder  at  her 
side.  There  may  have  been  moments  in  those  two 
hours  when  the  tension  was  high,  when  the  efforts 
she  made  to  interest  and  hold  him  were  somewhat 
strained.  But  if  this  was  so,  it  escaped  the  notice 
of  the  one  person  concerned ;  for  it  was  long  after  tea 
had  been  served,  long  after  Eve  had  offered  to  do 
penance  for  her  monopoly  of  him  by  driving  him  to 
Chilcote's  club,  that  Loder  realized  with  any  degree 
of  distinctness  that  it  was  she  and  not  he  who  had 
taken  the  lead  in  their  interview;  that  it  was  she 
and  not  he  who  had  bridged  the  difficult  silences  and 
given  a  fresh  direction  to  dangerous  channels  of  talk. 
It  was  long  before  he  recognized  this;  but  it  was  still 
longer  before  he  realized  the  far  more  potent  fact 
that,  without  any  coldness,  without  any  lessening 
of  the  subtle  consideration  she  always  showed  him, 
she  had  given  him  no  further  opportunity  of  making 
love. 

Talking  continuously,  elated  with  the  sense  of  con- 
flict still  to  come,  he  drove  with  her  to  the  club.  Con- 
sidering that  drive  in  the  light  of  after  events,  his  own 
frame  of  mind  invariably  filled  him  with  incredulity. 

284 


THE    MASQUERADER 

In  the  eyes  of  any  sane  man  his  position  was  not  worth 
an  hour's  purchase;  yet  in  the  blind  self-confidence  of 
the  moment  he  would  not  have  changed  places  with 
Fraide  himself.  The  great  song  of  Self  was  sounding  in 
his  ears  as  he  drove  through  the  crowded  streets,  con- 
scious of  the  cool,  crisp  air,  of  Eve's  close  presence, 
of  the  numberless  infinitesimal  things  that  went  to 
make  up  the  value  of  life.  It  was  this  acknowledg- 
ment of  personality  that  upheld  him;  the  personality, 
the  power  that  had  carried  him  unswervingly  through 
eleven  colorless  years;  that  had  impelled  him  towards 
this  new  career  when  the  new  career  had  first  been 
opened  to  him;  that  had  hewn  a  way  for  him  in  this 
fresh  existence  against  colossal  odds.  The  indomitable 
force  that  had  trampled  out  Chilcote's  footmarks  in 
public  life,  in  private  life — in  love.  It  was  a  trium- 
phant paean  that  clamored  in  his  ears,  something  per- 
sistent and  prophetic  with  an  undernote  of  menace. 
The  cry  of  the  human  soul  that  has  dared  to  stand 
alone. 

His  glance  was  keen  and  bright  as  he  waited  for  a 
moment  at  the  carriage  door  and  took  Eve's  hand 
before  entering  the  club. 

"  You're  dining  out  to-night  ?"  he  said.  His  fingers, 
always  tenacious  and  masterful,  continued  to  hold 
hers.  The  compunction  that  had  driven  him  tem- 
porarily towards  sacrifice  had  passed.  His  pride,  his 
confidence,  and  with  them  his  desire,  had  flowed  back  in 
full  measure. 

Eve,  watching  him  attentively,  paled  a  little.  "Yes," 
she  said,  "I'm  dining  with  the  Bramfells." 

"What  time  will  you  get  home?"  He  scarcely 
realized  why  he  put  the  question.     The  song  of  Self 

285 


THE    MASQUERADER 

still  sounded  triumphantly,  and  he  responded  without 
reflection. 

His  eyes  held  hers,  his  fingers  pressed  her  hand;  the 
intense  mastery  of  his  will  passed  through  her  in  a 
sudden  sense  of  fear.  Her  lips  parted  in  deprecation, 
but  he — closely  attentive  of  her  expression — spoke 
again  quickly. 

"When  can  I  see  you?"  he  asked,  very  quietly. 

Again  she  was  about  to  speak.  She  leaned  forward, 
as  if  some  thought  long  suppressed  trembled  on  her 
lips;  then  her  courage  or  her  desire  failed  her.  She 
leaned  back,  letting  her  lashes  droop  over  her  eyes. 
"  I  shall  be  home  at  eleven,"  she  said  below  her  breath. 

Loder  dined  with  Lakely  at  Chilcote's  club;  and  so 
absorbing  were  the  political  interests  of  the  hour — the 
resignation  of  Sir  Robert  Sefborough,  the  King's  sum- 
moning of  Fraide,  the  probable  features  of  the  new 
ministry — that  it  was  after  nine  o'clock  when  at  last 
he  freed  himself  and  drove  to  the  "Arcadian"  Theatre. 

The  sound  of  music  came  to  him  as  he  entered  the 
theatre  —  light,  measured  music  suggestive  of  tiny 
streams,  toy  lambs,  and  painted  shepherdesses.  It 
sounded  singularly  inappropriate  to  his  mood — as  in- 
appropriate as  the  theatre  itself  with  its  gay  gilding,  its 
pale  tones  of  pink  and  blue.  It  was  the  setting  of  a 
different  world  —  a  world  of  laughter,  light  thoughts, 
and  shallow  impulses,  in  which  he  had  no  part.  He 
halted  for  an  instant  outside  the  box  to  which  the 
attendant  had  shown  him;  then,  as  the  door  was  thrown 
open,  he  straightened  himself  resolutely  and  stepped 
forward. 

It  was  the  interval  between  the  first  and  second  acts. 

286 


THE    MASQUERADER 

The  box  was  in  shadow,  and  Loder's  first  impression 
was  of  voices  and  rustling  skirts,  broken  in  upon  by  the 
murmur  of  frequent,  amused  laughter;  later,  as  his  eyes 
grew  accustomed  to  the  light,  he  distinguished  the 
occupants — two  women  and  a  man.  The  man  was 
speaking  as  he  entered,  and  the  story  he  was  relating 
was  evidently  interesting  from  the  faint  exclamations 
of  question  and  delight  that  punctuated  it  in  the  lis- 
teners' higher,  softer  voices.  As  the  new-comer  en- 
tered they  all  three  turned  and  looked  at  him. 

"Ah,  here  comes  the  legislator!"  exclaimed  Leonard 
Kaine.  For  it  was  he  who  formed  the  male  element  in 
the  party. 

"The  Revolutionary,  Lennie!"  Lillian  corrected,  soft- 
ly. "Bramfell  says  he  has  changed  the  whole  face  of 
things — "  She  laughed  softly  and  meaningly  as  she 
closed  her  fan.  "So  good  of  you  to  come,  Jack!"  she 
added.  "Let  me  introduce  you  to  Miss  Esseltyn;  I 
don't  think  you  two  have  met.  This  is  Mr.  Chil- 
cote,  Mary — the  great,  new  Mr.  Chilcote."  Again  she 
laughed. 

Loder  bowed  and  moved  to  the  front  of  the  box, 
nodding  to  Kaine  as  he  passed. 

"It's  only  for  an  hour,"  he  explained  to  Lillian. 
"  I  have  an  appointment  for  eleven."  He  turned  and 
bowed  to  the  third  occupant  of  the  box — a  remarkably 
young  and  well-dressed  girl  with  wide-awake  eyes  and 
a  retrousse  nose. 

"Only  an  hour!  Oh,  how  unkind!  How  should  I 
punish  him,  Lennie?"  Lillian  looked  round  at  Kaine 
with  a  lingering,  caressing  glance. 

He  bent  towards  her  in  quick  response  and  answered 
in  a  whisper. 

287 


THE    MASQUERADER 

She  laughed  and  replied  in  an  equally  low  tone. 

Loder,  to  whom  both  remarks  had  been  inaudible, 
dropped  into  the  vacant  seat  beside  Mary  Esseltyn. 
He  had  the  unsettled  feeling  that  things  were  not 
falling  out  exactly  as  he  had  calculated. 

"What  is  the  play  like?"  he  hazarded  as  he  looked 
towards  his  companion.  At  all  times  social  trivialities 
bored  him;  to-night  they  were  intolerable.  He  had 
come  to  fight,  but  all  at  once  it  seemed  that  there 
was  no  opponent.  Lillian's  attitude  disturbed  him; 
her  careless  graciousness,  her  evident  ignoring  of  him 
for  Kaine,  might  mean  nothing  —  but  also  it  might 
mean  much. 

So  he  speculated  as  he  put  his  question  and  spurred 
his  attention  towards  the  girl's  answer;  but  with  the 
speculation  came  the  resolve  to  hold  his  own — to  meet 
his  enemy  upon  whatever  ground  she  chose  to  appro- 
priate. 

The  girl  looked  at  him  with  interest.  She,  too,  had 
heard  of  his  triumph. 

"It  is  a  good  play,"  she  responded.  "I  like  it 
better  than  the  book.  You've  read  the  book,  of 
course?" 

"No."     Loder  tried  hard  to  fix  his  thoughts. 

"It's  amusing — but  far-fetched." 

"Indeed?"  He  picked  up  the  programme  lying  on 
the  edge  of  the  box.  His  ears  were  strained  to  catch 
the  tone  of  Lillian's  voice  as  she  laughed  and  whispered 
with  Kaine. 

"Yes;  men  exchanging  identities,  you  know." 

He  looked  up  and  caught  the  girl's  self-possessed 
glance.  "Oh?"  he  said.  "Indeed?"  Then  again  he 
looked  away.     It  was  intolerable  this  feeling  of  being 

288 


THIS     IS    MR.     CIIILCOTE,     MARY 


THE    MASQUERADER 

caged  up !  A  sense  of  anger  crept  through  his  mind.  It 
almost  seemed  that  Lillian  had  brought  him  there  to 
prove  that  she  had  finished  with  him — had  cast  him 
aside,  having  used  him  for  the  day's  excitement  as  she 
had  used  her  poodles,  her  Persian  cats,  her  crystal- 
gazing.  All  at  once  the  impotency  and  uncertainty  of 
his  position  goaded  him.  Turning  swiftly  in  his  seat, 
he  glanced  back  to  where  she  sat,  slowly  swaying  her 
fan,  her  pale,  golden  hair  and  her  pale-colored  gown  del- 
icately silhouetted  against  the  background  of  the  box. 

"What's  your  idea  of  the  play,  Lillian?"  he  said, 
abruptly.  To  his  own  ears  there  was  a  note  of  chal- 
lenge in  his  voice. 

She  looked  round  languidly.  "Oh,  it's  quite  amus- 
ing," she  said.  "  It  makes  a  delicious  farce — absolutely 
French." 

"French?" 

"Quite.     Don't  you  think  so,  Lennie?" 

"Oh,  quite,"  Kaine  agreed. 

"They  mean  that  it's  so  very  light — and  yet  so  very 
subtle,  Mr.  Chilcote,"  Mary  Esseltyn  explained. 

"Indeed?"  he  said.  "Then  my  imagination  was  at 
fault.     I  thought  the  piece  was  serious." 

"Serious!"  Lillian  smiled  again.  "Why,  where's 
your  sense  of  humor  ?  The  motive  of  the  play  debars 
all  seriousness." 

Loder  looked  down  at  the  programme  still  between 
his  hands.     "What  is  tne  motive?"  he  asked. 

Lillian  waved  her  fan  once  or  twice,  then  closed  it 
softly.     "Love  is  the  motive,"  she  said. 

Now  the  balancing — the  adjusting  of  impression  and 
inspiration — is,  of  all  processes  in  life,  the  most  deli- 
cately fine.    The  simple  sound  of  the  word  ' '  love ' '  com- 

289 


THE    MASQUERADER 

mg  at  that  precise  juncture  changed  the  whole  current 
of  Loder's  thought.  It  fell  like  a  seed;  and  like  a  seed 
in  ultra-productive  soil,  it  bore  fruit  with  amazing 
rapidity. 

The  word  itself  was  small  and  the  manner  in  which  it 
was  spoken  trivial,  but  Loder's  mind  was  attracted  and 
held  by  it.  The  last  time  it  had  met  his  ears  his  en- 
vironment had  been  vastly  different;  and  this  echo  of 
it  in  an  uncongenial  atmosphere  stung  him  to  re- 
sentment. The  vision  of  Eve,  the  thought  of  Eve, 
became  suddenly  dominant. 

"Love?"  he  repeated,  coldly.  "So  love  is  the 
motive?" 

"Yes."  This  time  it  was  Kaine  who  responded  in 
his  methodical,  contented  voice.  "The  motive  of  the 
play  is  love,  as  Lillian  says.  And  when  was  love  ever 
serious  in  a  three-act  comedy — on  or  off  the  stage?" 
He  leaned  forward  in  his  seat,  screwed  in  his  eye-glass, 
and  lazily  scanned  the  stalls. 

The  orchestra  was  playing  a  Hungarian  dance — its 
erratic  harmonies  and  wild  alternations  of  expression 
falling  abruptly  across  the  pinks  and  blues,  the  gilding 
and  lights  of  the  pretty,  conventional  theatre.  Some- 
thing in  the  suggestion  of  unfitness  appealed  to  Loder. 
It  was  the  force  of  the  real  as  opposed  to  the  ideal.  With 
a  new  expression  on  his  face,  he  turned  again  to  Kaine. 

"And  how  does  it  work?"  he  said.  "This  treat- 
ment that  you  find  so — French  ?" 

His  voice  as  well  as  his  expression  had  changed. 
He  still  spoke  quietly,  but  he  spoke  with  interest.  He 
was  no  longer  conscious  of  his  vague  and  uneasiness; 
a  fresh  chord  had  been  struck  in  his  mind,  and  his 
curiosity  had  responded  to  it.     For  the  first  time  it  oc- 

290 


THE    MASQUERADER 

curred  to  him  that  love — the  dangerous,  mysterious 
garden  whose  paths  had  so  suddenly  stretched  out 
before  his  own  feet  —  was  a  pleasure-ground  that 
possessed  many  doors  —  and  an  infinite  number  of 
keys.  He  was  stirred  by  the  desire  to  peer  through 
another  entrance  than  his  own,  to  see  the  secret,  allur- 
ing byways  from  another  stand -point.  He  waited 
with  interest  for  the  answer  to  his  question. 

For  a  second  or  two  Kaine  continued  to  survey  the 
house;  then  his  eye-glass  dropped  from  his  eye  and  he 
turned  round. 

' '  To  understand  the  thing, ' '  he  said ,  pleasantly , ' '  you 
must  have  read  the  book.     Have  you  read  the  book?" 

"No,  Mr.  Kaine,"  Mary  Esseltyn  interrupted,  "Mr. 
Chilcote  hasn't  read  the  book." 

Lillian  laughed.  "Outline  the  story  for  him,  Len- 
nie,"  she  said.  "I  love  to  see  other  people  taking 
pains." 

Kaine  glanced  at  her  admiringly.  "Well,  to  begin 
with,"  he  said,  amiably,  "two  men,  an  artist  and  a 
millionaire,  exchange  lives.     See?" 

"You  may  presume  that  he  does  see,  Lennie." 

"Right!  Well,  then,  as  I  say,  these  beggars  change 
identities.  They're  as  like  as  pins;  and  to  all  appear- 
ances one  chap's  the  other  chap — and  the  other  chap's 
the  first  chap.     See?" 

Loder  laughed.  The  newly  quickened  interest  was 
enhanced  by  treading  on  dangerous  ground. 

"Well,  they  change  for  a  lark,  of  course,  but  there's 
one  fact  they  both  overlook.  They're  men,  you 
know,  and  they  forget  these  little  things!"  He  laugh- 
ed delightedly.  "They  overlook  the  fact  that  one  of 
'em  has  got  a  wife!" 

291 


THE    MASQUERADER 

There  was  a  crash  of  music  from  the  orchestra. 
Loder  sat  straighter  in  his  seat;  he  was  conscious  that 
the  blood  had  rushed  into  his  face. 

"Oh,  indeed?"  he  said,  quickly.  "One  of  them 
had  a  wife  ?" 

"Exactly!"  Again  Kaine  chuckled.  "And  the 
point  of  the  joke  is  that  the  wife  is  the  least  larky 
person  under  the  sun.     See  ?" 

A  second  hot  wave  passed  over  Loder's  face;  a  sense 
of  mental  disgust  filled  him.  This,  then,  was  the 
wonderful  garden  seen  from  another  stand-point!  He 
looked  from  Lillian,  graceful,  sceptical,  and  shallow, 
to  the  young  girl  beside  him,  so  frankly  modern  in 
her  appreciation  of  life.  This,  then,  was  love  as  seen 
by  the  eyes  of  the  world  —  the  world  that  accepts, 
judges,  and  condemns  in  a  slang  phrase  or  two!  Very 
slowly  the  blood  receded  from  his  face. 

"And  the  end  of  the  story?"  he  asked,  in  a  strained 
voice. 

"The  end?  Oh,  usual  end,  of  course.  Chap  makes 
a  mess  of  things  and  the  bubble  bursts." 

"  And  the  end  of  the  wife  ?" 

"The  end  of  the  wife  ?"  Lillian  broke  in,  with  a  little 
laugh.  "Why,  the  end  of  all  stupid  people  who,  in- 
stead of  going  through  life  with  a  lot  of  delightfully 
human  stumbles,  come  just  one  big  cropper.  She 
naturally  ends  in  the  divorce  court!" 

They  all  laughed  boisterously.  Then  laughter,  story, 
and  denouement  were  all  drowned  in  a  tumultuous 
crash  of  music.  The  orchestra  ceased;  there  was  a 
slight  hum  of  applause;  and  the  curtain  rose  on  the 
second  act  of  the  comedy. 


XXXI 

A  FEW  minutes  before  the  curtain  fell  on  the  second 
act  of  "Other  Men's  Shoes"  Loder  rose  from  his 
seat  and  made  his  apologies  to  Lillian. 

At  an,y  other  moment  he  might  have  pondered  over 
her  manner  of  accepting  them — the  easy  indifference 
with  which  she  let  him  go.  But  vastly  keener  issues 
were  claiming  his  attention,  issues  whose  results  were 
wide  and  black. 

He  left  the  theatre,  and,  refusing  the  overtures  of 
cabmen,  set  himself  to  walk  to  Chilcote's  house.  His 
face  was  hard  and  emotionless  as  he  hurried  forward, 
but  the  chaos  in  his  mind  found  expression  in  the  un- 
evenness  of  his  pace.  To  a  strong  man  the  confront- 
ing of  difficulties  is  never  alarming  and  is  often  fraught 
with  inspiration;  but  this  applies  essentially  to  the 
difficulties  evolved  through  the  weakness,  the  folly,  or 
the  force  of  another;  when  they  arise  from  within  the 
matter  is  of  another  character.  It  is  in  presence  of  his 
own  soul  —  and  in  that  presence  alone  —  that  a  man 
may  truly  measure  himself. 

As  Loder  walked  onward,  treading  the  whole  famil- 
iar length  of  traffic-filled  street,  he  realized  for  the  first 
time  that  he  was  standing  before  that  solemn  tribunal 
— that  the  hour  had  come  when  he  must  answer  to 
himself  for  himself.  The  longer  and  deeper  an  oblivion 
the  more  painful  the   awakening.     For  months  the 

293 


THE    MASQUERADER 

song  of  self  had  beaten  about  his  ears,  deadening  all 
other  sounds;  now  abruptly  that  song  had  ceased — 
not  considerately,  not  lingeringly,  but  with  a  sudden- 
ness that  made  the  succeeding  silence  very  terrible. 

He  walked  onward,  keeping  his  direction  unseeingly. 
He  was  passing  through  the  fire  as  surely  as  though 
actual  flames  rose  about  his  feet;  and  whatever  the 
result,  whatever  the  fibre  of  the  man  who  emerged  from 
the  ordeal,  the  John  Loder  who  had  hewn  his  way 
through  the  past  weeks  would  exist  no  more.  The 
triumphant  egotist  — the  strong  man  — who,  by  his 
own  strength,  had  kept  his  eyes  upon  one  point,  refus- 
ing to  see  in  other  directions,  had  ceased  to  be. 

Keen  though  it  was,  his  realization  of  this  crisis 
in  his  life  had  come  with  characteristic  slowness.   When 
Lillian  Astrupp  had  given  her  dictum,  when  the  music 
of  the  orchestra  had  ceased  and  the  curtain  risen  on  the 
second  act  of  the  play,  nothing  but  a  sense  of  stupe- 
faction had  filled  his  mind.     In  that  moment  the  great 
song  was  silenced,  not  by  any  portentous  episode,  not 
by  any  incident  that  could  have  lent  dignity  to  its 
end,  but — with  the  full  measure  of  life's  irony — by  a 
trivial  social  commonplace.     In  the  first  sensation  of 
blank    loss   his   faculties   had   been   numbed;    in  the 
quarter  of  an  hour  that  followed  the  rise  of  the  curtain 
he  had  sat  staring  at  the  stage,  seeing  nothing,  hearing 
nothing,   filled  with  the  enormity  of  the  void  that 
suddenly  surrounded  him.     Then,  from  habit,  from 
constitutional  tendency,  he  had  begun  slowly  and  per- 
severingly  to    draw   first    one   thread    and    then    an- 
other from  the  tangle  of  his  thoughts — to  forge  with 
doubt  and  difficulty  the  chain  that  was  to  draw  him 
towards  the  future. 

294 


THE    MASQUERADER 

It  was  upon  this  same  incomplete  and  yet  tenacious 
chain  that  his  mind  worked  as  he  traversed  the  familiar 
streets  and  at  last  gained  the  house  he  had  so  easily 
learned  to  call  home. 

As  he  inserted  the  latch-key  and  felt  it  move  smooth- 
ly in  the  lock,  a  momentary  revolt  against  his  own 
judgment,  his  own  censorship  swung  him  sharply 
towards  reaction.  But  it  is  only  the  blind  who  can 
walk  without  a  tremor  on  the  edge  of  an  abyss,  and 
there  was  no  longer  a  bandage  across  his  eyes.  The 
reaction  flared  up  like  a  strip  of  lighted  paper;  then, 
like  a  strip  of  lighted  paper,  it  dropped  back  to  ashes. 
He  pushed  the  door  open  and  slowly  crossed  the  hall. 

The  mounting  of  a  staircase  is  often  the  index  to  a 
man's  state  of  mind.  As  Loder  ascended  the  stairs  of 
Chilcote's  house  his  shoulders  lacked  their  stiffness,  his 
head  was  no  longer  erect;  he  moved  as  though  his 
feet  were  weighted.  He  had  ceased  to  be  the  man 
of  achievement  whose  smallest  opinion  compels  con- 
sideration; in  the  privacy  of  solitude  he  was  the  mere 
human  flotsam  to  which  he  had  once  compared  him- 
self— the  flotsam  that,  dreaming  it  has  found  a  harbor, 
wakes  to  find  itself  the  prey  of  the  incoming  tide. 

He  paused  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  to  rally  his  res- 
olutions; then,  still  walking  heavily,  he  passed  down 
the  corridor  to  Eve's  room.  It  was  suggestive  of  his 
character  that,  having  made  his  decision,  he  did  not 
dally  over  its  performance.  Without  waiting  to 
knock,  he  turned  the  handle  and  walked  into  the 
room. 

It  looked  precisely  as  it  always  looked,  but  to  Loder 
the  rich,  subdued  coloring  of  books  and  flowers — the 
whole  air  of  culture  and  repose  that  the  place  con- 

295 


THE    MASQUERADER 

veyed — seemed  to  hold  a  deeper  meaning  than  before; 
and  it  was  on  the  instant  that  his  eyes,  crossing  the 
inanimate  objects,  rested  on  their  owner  that  the 
true  force  of  his  position,  the  enormity  of  the  task 
before  him,  made  itself  plain.  Realization  came  to 
him  with  vivid,  overwhelming  force;  and  it  must  be 
accounted  to  his  credit,  in  the  summing  of  his  qualities, 
that  then,  in  that  moment  of  trial,  the  thought  of  re- 
treat, the  thought  of  yielding  did  not  present  itself. 

Eve  was  standing  by  the  mantel-piece.  She  wore 
a  beautiful  gown,  a  long  string  of  diamonds  was  twisted 
about  her  neck,  and  her  soft,  black  hair  was  coiled 
high  after  a  foreign  fashion,  and  held  in  place  by  a 
large  diamond  comb.  As  he  entered  she  turned 
hastily,  almost  nervously,  and  looked  at  him  with  the 
rapid,  searching  glance  he  had  learned  to  expect  from 
her;  then,  almost  directly,  her  expression  changed  to 
one  of  quick  concern.  With  a  faint  exclamation  of 
alarm  she  stepped  forward. 

"What  has  happened?"  she  said.     "You  look  like 

a  ghost." 

Loder  made  no  answer.  Moving  into  the  room,  he 
paused  by  the  oak  table  that  stood  between  the  fire- 
place and  the  door. 

They  made  an  unconscious  tableau  as  they  stood 
there— he  with  his  hard,  set  face,  she  with  her  height- 
ened color,  her  inexplicably  bright  eyes.  They  stood 
completely  silent  for  a  space — a  space  that  for  Loder 
held  no  suggestion  of  time;  then,  finding  the  tension 
unbearable,  Eve  spoke  again. 

"Has  anything  happened?"  she  asked.  'Is  any- 
thing wrong?" 

Had  he  been  less  engrossed  the  intensity  of  her 

296 


THE    MASQUERADER 

concern  might  have  struck  him;  but  in  a  mind  so 
harassed  as  his  there  was  only  room  for  one  considera- 
tion— the  consideration  of  himself.  The  sense  of  her 
question  reached  him,  but  its  significance  left  him  un- 
touched. 

"Is  anything  wrong?"  she  reiterated  for  the  second 
time. 

By  an  effort  he  raised  his  eyes.  No  man,  he  thought, 
since  the  beginning  of  the  world  was  ever  set  a  task  so 
cruel  as  his.     Painfully  and  slowly  his  lips  parted. 

"Everything  in  the  world  is  wrong,"  he  said,  in  a 
slow,  hard  voice. 

Eve  said  nothing  but  her  color  suddenly  deepened. 

Again  Loder  was  unobservant.  But  with  the  dogged 
resolution  that  marked  him  he  forced  himself  to  his 
task. 

"You  despise  lies,"  he  said,  at  last.  "Tell  me  what 
you  would  think  of  a  man  whose  whole  life  was  one 
elaborated  lie  ?"  The  words  were  slightly  exaggerated, 
but  their  utterance,  their  painfully  brusque  sincerity, 
precluded  all  suggestion  of  effect.  Resolutely  holding 
her  gaze  he  repeated  his  question. 

"Tell  me!     Answer  me!     I  want  to  know." 

Eve's  attitude  was  difficult  to  read.  She  stood 
twisting  the  string  of  diamonds  between  her  fingers. 

"Tell  me!"  he  said  again. 

She  continued  to  look  at  him  for  a  moment;  then, 
as  if  some  fresh  impulse  moved  her,  she  turned  away 
from  him  towards  the  fire. 

"I  cannot,"  she  said.  "We — I — I  could  not  set 
myself  to  judge — any  one." 

Loder  held  himself  rigidly  in  hand. 

"Eve,"  he  said,  quietly,  "I  was  at  the  'Arcadian' 
20  297 


THE    MASQUERADER 

to-night.  The  play  was 'Other  Men's  Shoes.'  I  sup- 
pose you've  read  the  book  Other  Men's  Shoes?" 

She  was  leaning  on  the  mantel-piece  and  her  face 
was  invisible  to  him.  "Yes,  I  have  read  it,"  she  said, 
without  looking  round. 

"It  is  the  story  of  an  extraordinary  likeness  be- 
tween two  men.  Do  you  believe  such  a  likeness 
possible?  Do  you  think  such  a  thing  could  exist?" 
He  spoke  with  difficulty;  his  brain  and  tongue  both 
felt  numb. 

Eve  let  the  diamond  chain  slip  from  her  fingers. 
"Yes,"  she  said,  nervously.  "Yes,  I  do  believe  it. 
Such  things  have  been — " 

Loder  caught  at  the  words.  "You're  quite  right," 
he  said,  quickly.  "You're  quite  right.  The  thing 
is  possible  —  I've  proved  it.  I  know  a  man  so  like 
me  that  you,  even  you,  could  not  tell  us  apart." 

Eve  was  silent,  still  averting  her  face. 

In  dire  difficulty  he  labored  on.  "Eve,"  he  began 
once  more,  "such  a  likeness  is  a  serious  thing — a 
terrible  danger  —  a  terrible  temptation.  Those  who 
have  no  experience  of  it  cannot  possibly  gauge  its 
pitfalls — "  Again  he  paused,  but  again  the  silent 
figure  by  the  fireplace  gave  him  no  help. 

"Eve,"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly,  "if  you  only  knew, 
if  you  only  guessed  what  I'm  trying  to  say — "  The 
perplexity,  the  whole  harassed  suffering  of  his  mind 
showed  in  the  words.  Loder,  the  strong,  the  resource- 
ful, the  self-contained,  was  palpably,  painfully  at  a 
loss.  There  was  almost  a  note  of  appeal  in  the  vibra- 
tion of  his  voice. 

And  Eve,  standing  by  the  fireplace,  heard  and  under- 
stood.    In  that  moment  of  comprehension  all  that  had 

298 


THE    MASQUERADER 

held  her  silent,  all  the  conflicting  motives  that  had 
forbidden  speech,  melted  away  before  the  unconscious 
demand  for  help.  Quietly  and  yet  quickly  she  turned, 
her  whole  face  transfigured  by  a  light  that  seemed  to 
shine  from  within  —  something  singularly  soft  and 
tender. 

"There's  no  need  to  say  anything,"  she  said,  simply, 
"because  I  know." 

It  came  quietly,  as  most  great  revelations  come.  Her 
voice  was  low  and  free  from  any  excitement,  her  face 
beautiful  in  its  complete  unconsciousness  of  self.  In 
that  supreme  moment  all  her  thought,  all  her  sym- 
pathy was  for  the  man — and  his  suffering. 

To  Loder  there  was  a  space  of  incredulity;  then  his 
brain  slowly  swung  to  realization.  "You  know?"  he 
repeated,  blankly.     "You  know  ?" 

Without  answering  she  walked  to  a  cabinet  that 
stood  in  the  window,  unlocked  a  drawer,  and  drew  out 
several  sheets  of  flimsy  white  paper,  crumpled  in 
places  and  closely  covered  with  writing.  Without  a 
word  she  carried  them  back  and  held  them  out. 

He  took  them  in  silence,  scanned  them,  then  looked 
up. 

In  a  long,  worthless  pause  their  eyes  met.  It  was 
as  if  each  looked  speechlessly  into  the  other's  heart, 
seeing  the  passions,  the  contradictions,  the  short- 
comings that  went  to  the  making  of  both.  In  that 
silence  they  drew  closer  together  than  they  could  have 
done  through  a  torrent  of  words.  There  was  no  asking 
of  forgiveness,  no  elaborate  confession  on  either  side; 
in  the  deep,  eloquent  pause  they  mutually  saw  and 
mutually  understood. 

"When  I  came  into  the  morning-room  to-day,"  Eve 

2Q9 


THE    MASQUERADER 

said,  at  last,  "and  saw  Lillian  Astrupp  reading  that 
telegram,  nothing  could  have  seemed  further  from  me 
than  the  thought  that  I  should  follow  her  example. 
It  was  not  until  afterwards;  not  until — he  came  into 
the  room;  until  I  saw  that  you,  as  I  believed,  had 
fallen  back  again  from  what  I  respected  to  what  I — 
despised — that  I  knew  how  human  I  really  was.  As 
I  watched  them  laugh  and  talk  I  felt  suddenly  that  I 
was  alone  again — terribly  alone.  I — I  think — I  believe 
I  was  jealous  in  that  moment — "     She  hesitated. 

"Eve!"  he  exclaimed. 

But  she  broke  in  quickly  on  the  word.  "I  felt 
different  in  that  moment.  I  didn't  care  about  honor — 
or  things  like  honor.  After  they  had  gone  it  seemed 
to  me  that  I  had  missed  something — something  that 
they  possessed.  Oh,  you  don't  know  what  a  woman 
feels  when  she  is  jealous!"  Again  she  paused.  "It 
was  then  that  the  telegram,  and  the  thought  of 
Lillian's  amused  smile  as  she  had  read  it,  came  to  my 
mind.  Feeling  as  I  did  —  acting  on  what  I  felt — I 
crossed  to  the  bureau  and  picked  it  up.  In  one 
second  I  had  seen  enough  to  make  it  impossible  to 
draw  back.  Oh,  it  may  have  been  dishonorable,  it 
may  have  been  mean,  but  I  wonder  if  any  woman 
in  the  world  would  have  done  otherwise!  I  crumpled 
up  the  papers  just  as  they  were  and  carried  them  to 
my  own  room." 

From  the  first  to  the  last  word  of  Eve's  story 
Loder's  eyes  never  left  her  face.  Instantly  she  had 
finished  his  voice  broke  forth  in  irrepressible  question. 
In  that  wonderful  space  of  time  he  had  learned  many 
things.  All  his  deductions,  all  his  apprehensions  had 
been  scattered  and  disproved.     He  had  seen  the  true 

3co 


THE    MASQUERADER 

meaning  of  Lillian  Astrupp's  amused  indifference — 
the  indifference  of  a  variable,  flippant  nature  that, 
robbed  of  any  real  weapon  for  mischief,  soon  tires  of  a 
game  that  promises  to  be  too  arduous.  He  saw  all 
this  and  understood  it  with  a  rapidity  born  of  the 
moment;  nevertheless,  when  Eve  ceased  to  speak 
the  question  that  broke  from  him  was  not  connected 
with  this  great  discovery — was  not  even  suggestive  of 
it.  It  was  something  quite  immaterial  to  any  real 
issue,  but  something  that  overshadowed  every  con- 
sideration in  the  world. 

"Eve,"  he  said,  "tell  me  your  first  thought?  Your 
first  thought  after  the  shock  and  the  surprise — when 
you  remembered  me?" 

There  was  a  fresh  pause,  but  one  of  very  short 
duration;  then  Eve  met  his  glance  fearlessly  and 
frankly.  The  same  pride  and  dignity,  the  same  in- 
describable tenderness  that  had  responded  to  his 
first  appeal  shone  in  her  face. 

"My  first  thought  was  a  great  thankfulness,"  she 
said,  simply.  "A  thankfulness  that  you — that  no 
man — could  ever  understand." 


XXXII 

AS  she  finished  speaking  Eve  did  not  lower  her 
L  eyes.  To  her  there  was  no  suggestion  of  shame 
in  her  thoughts  or  her  words;  but  to  Loder,  watching 
and  listening,  there  was  a  perilous  meaning  contained 
in  both. 

"Thankfulness?"  he  repeated,  slowly.  From  his 
newly  stirred  sense  of  responsibility  pity  and  sym- 
pathy were  gradually  rising.  He  had  never  seen  Eve 
as  he  saw  her  now,  and  his  vision  was  all  the  clearer  for 
the  long  oblivion.  With  a  poignant  sense  of  com- 
passion and  remorse,  the  knowledge  of  her  youth  came 
to  him — the  youth  that  some  women  preserve  in  the 
midst  of  the  world,  when  circumstances  have  per- 
mitted them  to  see  much  but  to  experience  little. 

"Thankfulness?"  he  said  again,  incredulously. 

A  slight  smile  touched  her  lips.  "Yes,"  she  an- 
swered, softly.  "  Thankfulness  that  my  trust  had  been 
rightly  placed." 

She  spoke  simply  and  confidently,  but  the  words 
struck  Loder  more  sharply  than  any  accusation.  With 
a  heavy  sense  of  bitterness  and  renunciation  he  moved 
slowly  forward. 

"Eve,"  he  said,  very  gently,  "you  don't  know  what 
you  say." 

She  had  lowered  her  eyes  as  he  came  towards  her; 
now  again  she  lifted  them  in  a  swift,  upward  glance. 

302 


THE    MASQUERADER 

For  the  first  time  since  he  had  entered  the  room  a  slight 
look  of  personal  doubt  and  uneasiness  showed  in  her 
face.     "Why?"  she  said.     "I — I  don't  understand." 

For  a  moment  he  answered  nothing.  He  had  found 
his  first  explanation  overwhelming;  now  suddenly  it 
seemed  to  him  that  his  present  difficulty  was  more 
impossible  to  surmount.  "I  came  here  to-night  to 
tell  you  something,"  he  began,  at  last,  "but  so  far  I 
have  only  said  half — " 

"Half?" 

"Yes,  half."  He  repeated  the  word  quickly,  avoiding 
the  question  in  her  eyes.  Then,  conscious  of  the  need 
for  explanation,  he  plunged  into  rapid  speech. 

"A  fraud  like  mine,"  he  said,  "has  only  one  safe- 
guard, one  justification — a  boundless  audacity.  Once 
shake  that  audacity  and  the  whole  motive  power 
crumbles.  It  was  to  make  the  audacity  impossible — 
to  tell  you  the  truth  and  make  it  impossible — that  I 
came  to-night.  The  fact  that  you  already  knew  made 
the  telling  easier — but  it  altered  nothing." 

Eve  raised  her  head,  but  he  went  resolutely  on. 

"To-night,"  he  said,  "I  have  seen  into  my  own  life, 
into  my  own  mind,  and  my  ideas  have  been  very  rough- 
ly shaken  into  new  places. 

"We  never  make  so  colossal  a  mistake  as  when  we 
imagine  that  we  know  ourselves.  Months  ago,  when 
your  husband  first  proposed  this  scheme  to  me,  I  was, 
according  to  my  own  conception,  a  solitary  being  vast- 
ly ill-used  by  Fate,  who,  with  a  fine  stoicism,  was  lead- 
ing a  clean  life.  That  was  what  I  believed;  but  there, 
at  the  very  outset,  I  deceived  myself.  I  was  simply 
a  man  who  shut  himself  .up  because  he  cherished  a 
grudge  against  life,  and  who  lived  honestly  because 

3°3 


THE    MASQUERADER 

he  had  a  constitutional  distaste  for  vice.  My  first 
feeling  when  I  saw  your  husband  was  one  of  self- 
righteous  contempt,  and  that  has  been  my  attitude  all 
along.  I  have  often  marvelled  at  the  flood  of  intoler- 
ance that  has  rushed  over  me  at  sight  of  him — the 
violent  desire  that  has  possessed  me  to  look  away  from 
his  weakness  and  banish  the  knowledge  of  it ;  but  now 
I  understand. 

"I  know  now  what  the  feeling  meant.  The  knowl- 
edge came  to  me  to-night.  It  meant  that  I  turned 
away  from  his  weakness  because  deep  within  myself 
something  stirred  in  recognition  of  it.  Humanity  is 
really  much  simpler  than  we  like  to  think,  and  human 
impulses  have  an  extraordinary  fundamental  con- 
nection. Weakness  is  egotism  —  but  so  is  strength. 
Chilcote  has  followed  his  vice;  I  have  followed  my 
ambition.  It  will  take  a  higher  judgment  than  yours 
or  mine  to  say  which  of  us  has  been  the  more  selfish 
man."     He  paused  and  looked  at  her. 

She  was  watching  him  intently.  Some  of  the  mean- 
ing in  his  face  had  found  a  pained,  alarmed  reflection  in 
her  own.  But  the  awe  and  wonder  of  the  morning's 
discovery  still  colored  her  mind  too  vividly  to  allow 
of  other  considerations  possessing  their  proper  value. 
The  thrill  of  exultation  with  which  the  misgivings 
born  of  Chilcote 's  vice  had  dropped  away  from  her 
mental  image  of  Loder  was  still  too  absorbing  to  be 
easily  dominated.  She  loved,  and  as  if  by  a  miracle 
her  love  had  been  justified!  For  the  moment  the 
justification  was  all-sufficing.  Something  of  confidence 
— something  of  the  innocence  that  comes  not  from 
ignorance  of  evil  but  from  a  mind  singularly  uncon- 
taminated — blinded  her  to  the  danger  of  her  position. 

304 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Loder,  waiting  apprehensively  for  some  aid,  some 
expression  of  opinion,  became  gradually  conscious  of 
this  lack  of  realization.  Moved  by  a  fresh  impulse, 
he  crossed  the  small  space  that  divided  them  and 
caught  her  hands. 

"Eve,"  he  said,  gently,  "I  have  been  trying  to 
analyze  myself  and  give  you  the  results;  but  I  sha'n't 
try  any  more;  I  shall  be  quite  plain  with  you. 

"  From  the  first  moment  I  took  your  husband's  place 
I  was  ambitious.  You  unconsciously  aroused  the  feel- 
ing when  you  brought  me  Fraide's  message  on  the 
first  night.  You  aroused  it  by  your  words — but  more 
strongly,  though  more  obscurely,  by  your  underlying 
antagonism.  On  that  night,  though  I  did  not  know  it, 
I  took  up  my  position  —  I  made  my  determination. 
Do  you  know  what  that  determination  was  ?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  It  was  the  desire  to  stamp  out  Chilcote's  footmarks 
with  my  own — to  prove  that  personality  is  the  great 
force  capable  of  everything.  I  forgot  to  reckon  that 
when  we  draw  largely  upon  Fate  she  generally  extorts  a 
crushing  interest. 

"First  came  the  wish  for  your  respect;  then  the 
desire  to  stand  well  with  such  men  as  Fraide — to  feel 
the  stir  of  emulation  and  competition — to  prove  my- 
self strong  in  the  one  career  I  knew  myself  really 
fitted  for.  For  a  time  the  second  ambition  over- 
shadowed the  first,  but  the  first  was  bound  to  reassert 
itself;  and  in  a  moment  of  egotism  I  conceived  the 
notion  of  winning  your  enthusiasm  as  well  as  your 
respect — " 

Eve's  face,  alert  and  questioning,  suddenly  paled  as 
a  doubt  crossed  her  mind. 

3°5 


THE   MASQUERADER 

"Then  it  was  only — only  to  stand  well  with  me?" 

"  I  believed  it  was  only  the  desire  to  stand  well  with 
you ;  I  believed  it  until  the  night  of  my  speech — if  you 
can  credit  anything  so  absurd — then  on  that  night,  as 
I  came  up  the  stairs  to  the  gallery  and  saw  you  stand- 
ing there,  the  blindness  fell  away  and  I  knew  that  I 
loved  you."  As  he  said  the  last  words  he  released  her 
hands  and  turned  aside,  missing  the  quick  wave  of 
joy  and  color  that  crossed  her  face. 

"I  knew  it,  but  it  made  no  difference;  I  was 
only  moved  to  a  higher  self-glorification.  I  touched 
supremacy  that  night.  But  as  we  drove  home  I 
experienced  the  strangest  coincidence  of  my  life. 
You  remember  the  block  in  the  traffic  at  Piccadilly?" 

Again  Eve  bent  her  head. 

"Well,  when  I  looked  out  of  the  carriage  window  to 
discover  its  cause  the  first  man  I  saw  was — Chilcote." 

Eve  started  slightly.  This  swift,  unexpected  link- 
ing of  Chilcote 's  name  with  the  most  exalted  moment 
of  her  life  stirred  her  unpleasantly.  Some  glimmering 
of  Loder's  intention  in  so  linking  it,  broke  through  the 
web  of  disturbed  and  conflicting  thoughts. 

"You  saw  him  on  that  night?" 

"Yes;  and  the  sight  chilled  me.  It  was  a  big  drop 
from  supremacy  to  the  remembrance  of — everything." 

Involuntarily  she  put  out  her  hand. 

But  Loder  shook  his  head.  "No,"  he  said,  "don't 
pity  me!  The  sight  of  him  came  just  in  time.  I  had 
a  reaction  in  that  moment,  and,  such  as  it  was,  I 
acted  on  it.  I  went  to  him  next  morning  and  told 
him  that  the  thing  must  end.  But  then — even  then — 
I  shirked  being  honest  with  myself.  I  had  meant 
to  tell  him  that  it  must  end  because  I  had  grown  to 

306 


THE    MASQUERADER 

love  you,  but  my  pride  rose  up  and  tied  my  tongue. 
I  could  not  humiliate  myself.  I  put  the  case  before 
him  in  another  light.  It  was  a  tussle  of  wills — and  I 
won ;  but  the  victory  was  not  what  it  should  have  been. 
That  was  proved  to-day  when  he  returned  to  tell  me 
of  the  loss  of  this  telegram.  It  wasn't  the  fear  that 
Lady  Astrupp  had  found  it;  it  wasn't  to  save  the 
position  that  I  jumped  at  the  chance  of  coming  back; 
it  was  to  feel  the  joy  of  living,  the  joy  of  seeing  you — 
if  only  for  a  day!"  For  one  second  he  turned  towards 
her,  then  as  abruptly  he  turned  away  again. 

"I  was  still  thinking  of  myself,"  he  said.  "I  was 
still  utterly  self-centred  when  I  came  to  this  room  to- 
day and  allowed  you  to  talk  to  me  —  when  I  asked 
you  to  see  me  to-night  as  we  parted  at  the  club.  I 
sha'n't  tell  you  the  thoughts  that  unconsciously  were 
in  my  mind  when  I  asked  that  favor.  You  must  under- 
stand without  explanation. 

"  I  went  to  the  theatre  with  Lady  Astrupp  ostensibly 
to  find  out  how  the  land  lay  in  her  direction — really 
to  heighten  my  self-esteem.  But  there  Fate — or  the 
power  we  like  to  call  by  that  name — was  lying  in  wait 
for  me,  ready  to  claim  the  first  interest  in  the  portion 
of  life  I  had  dared  to  borrow."  He  said  this  slowly, 
as  if  measuring  each  word.  He  did  not  glance  towards 
Eve  as  he  had  done  in  his  previous  pause.  His  whole 
manner  seemed  oppressed  by  the  gravity  of  what  he 
had  still  to  say. 

"I  doubt  if  a  man  has  ever  seen  more  in  half  an 
hour  than  I  have  to-night,"  he  said.  "I'm  speaking 
of  mental  seeing,  of  course.  In  this  play,  '  Other  Men's 
Shoes,'  two  men  change  identities — as  Chilcote  and 
I  have  done — but  in  doing  so  they  overlook  one  fact — 

3°7 


THE    MASQUERADER 

The  fact  that  one  of  them  has  a  wife!  That's  not  my 
way  of  putting  it;  it's  the  way  it  was  put  to  me  by  one 
of  Lady  Astrupp's  party." 

Again  Eve  looked  up.  The  doubt  and  question  in 
her  eyes  had  grown  unmistakably.  As  he  ceased  to 
speak  her  lips  parted  quickly. 

"John,"  she  said,  with  sudden  conviction,  "you're 
trying  to  say  something— something  that's  terribly 
hard." 

Without  raising  his  head,  Loder  answered  her. 
"Yes,"  he  answered,  "the  hardest  thing  a  man  ever 
said—" 

His  tone  was  short,  almost  brusque,  but  to  ears 
sharpened  by  instinct  it  was  eloquent.  Without  a 
word  Eve  took  a  step  forward,  and,  standing  quite 
close  to  him,  laid  both  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

For  a  space  they  stood  silent,  she  with  her  face  lifted, 
he  with  averted  eyes.  Then  very  gently  he  raised  his 
hands  and  tried  to  unclasp  her  fingers.  There  was 
scarcely  any  color  visible  in  his  face,  and  by  a  curious 
effect  of  emotion  it  seemed  that  lines,  never  before 
noticeable,  had  formed  about  his  mouth. 

'What  is  it?"  Eve  asked,  apprehensively.  "What 
is  it?" 

By  a  swift,  involuntary  movement  she  had  tightened 
the  pressure  of  her  fingers;  and,  without  using  force, 
it  was  impossible  for  Loder  to  unloose  them.  With 
his  hands  pressed  irresolutely  over  hers,  he  looked 
down  into  her  face. 

"As  I  sat  in  the  theatre  to-night,  Eve,"  he  said, 
slowly,  "all  the  pictures  I  had  formed  of  life  shifted. 
Without  desiring  it,  without  knowing  it,  my  whole 
point  of  view  was  changed.     I  suddenly  saw  things  by 

308 


THE    MASQUERADER 

the  world's  search-light  instead  of  by  my  own  miserable 
candle.  I  suddenly  saw  things  for  you — instead  of  for 
myself." 

Eve's  eyes  widened  and  darkened,  but  she  said 
nothing. 

"I  suddenly  saw  the  unpardonable  wrong  that  I 
have  done  you — the  imperative  duty  of  cutting  it 
short."  He  spoke  very  slowly,  in  a  dull,  mechanical 
voice. 

Eve — her  eyes  still  wide,  her  face  pained  and  alarmed 
— withdrew  her  hands  from  his  shoulders.  "  You 
mean,"  she  said,  with  difficulty,  "that  it  is  going  to 
end  ?  That  you  are  going  away  ?  That  you  are  giving 
everything  up?  Oh,  but  you  can't!  You  can't!" 
she  exclaimed,  with  sudden  excitement,  her  fears  sud- 
denly overmastering  her  incredulity.  "You  can't! 
You  mustn't!  The  only  proof  that  could  have  inter- 
fered—" 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  the  proof." 

'Then  of  what?     Of  what?" 

Loder  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "Of  our  love,"  he 
said,  steadily. 

She  colored  deeply.  "But  why?"  she  stammered; 
"why?  We  have  done  no  wrong.  We  need  do  no 
wrong.  We  would  be  friends — nothing  more;  and  I — 
oh,  I  so  need  a  friend!" 

For  almost  the  first  time  in  Loder's  knowledge  of  her, 
her  voice  broke,  her  control  deserted  her.  She  stood 
before  him  in  all  the  pathos  of  her  lonely  girlhood — 
her  empty  life. 

The  revelation  touched  him  with  sudden  poignancy; 
the  real  strength  that  lay  beneath  his  faults,  the 
chivalry  buried  under  years  of  callousness,  stirred  at 

3°9 


THE    MASQUERADER 

the  birth  of  a  new  emotion.  The  resolution  preserved 
at  such  a  cost,  the  sacrifice  that  had  seemed  wellnigh 
impossible,  all  at  once  took  on  a  different  shape. 
What  before  had  been  a  barren  duty  became  suddenly 
a  sacred  right.  Holding  out  his  arms,  he  drew  her  to 
him  as  if  she  had  been  a  child. 

"Eve,"  he  said,  gently,  "I  have  learned  to-night 
how  fully  a  woman's  life  is  at  the  mercy  of  the  world 
— and  how  scanty  that  mercy  is.  If  circumstances 
had  been  different,  I  believe — I  am  convinced — I  would 
have  made  you  a  good  husband — would  have  used  my 
right  to  protect  you  as  well  as  a  man  could  use  it. 
And  now  that  things  are  different,  I  want — I  should 
like — "  He  hesitated  a  very  little.  "Now  that  I 
have  no  right  to  protect  you — except  the  right  my  love 
gives — I  want  to  guard  you  as  closely  from  all  that  is 
sordid  as  any  husband  could  guard  his  wife. 

"In  life  there  are  really  only  two  broad  issues — 
right  and  wrong.  Whatever  we  may  say,  whatever  we 
may  profess  to  believe,  we  know  that  our  action  is 
always  a  choice  between  right  and  wrong.  A  month 
ago — a  week  ago — I  would  have  despised  a  man  who 
could  talk  like  this — and  have  thought  myself  strong 
for  despising  him.  Now  I  know  that  strength  is  some- 
thing more  than  the  trampling  of  others  into  the  dust 
that  we  ourselves  may  have  a  clear  road;  that  it  is 
something  much  harder  and  much  less  triumphant 
than  that — that  it  is  standing  aside  to  let  somebody 
else  pass  on.  Eve,"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly,  "I'm 
trying  to  do  this  for  you.  Don't  you  see?  Don't 
you  understand  ?  The  easy  course,  the  happy  course, 
would  be  to  let  things  drift.  Every  instinct  is  calling 
to  me  to  take  that  course — to  go  on  as  I  have  gone, 

310 


THE    MASQUERADER 

trading  on  Chilcote's  weakness  and  your  generosity. 
But  I  won't  do  it!  I  can't  do  it!"  With  a  swift  im- 
pulse he  loosed  his  arms  and  held  her  away  from  him. 
"Eve,  it's  the  first  time  I  have  put  another  human 
being  before  myself!" 

Eve  kept  her  head  bent.  Painful,  inaudible  sobs 
were  shaking  her  from  head  to  foot. 

"It's  something  in  you — something  unconscious — 
something  high  and  fine,  that  holds  me  back — that 
literally  bars  the  way.  Eve,  can't  you  see  that  I'm 
fighting — fighting  hard?" 

After  he  had  spoken  there  was  silence — a  long,  pain- 
ful silence — during  which  Eve  waged  the  battle  that 
so  many  of  her  sex  have  waged  before;  the  battle  in 
which  words  are  useless  and  tears  of  no  account. 
She  looked  very  slight,  very  young,  very  forlorn,  as  she 
stood  there.  Then,  in  the  oppressive  sense  of  waiting 
that  filled  the  whole  room,  she  looked  up  at  him. 

Her  face  was  stained  with  tears,  her  thick,  black 
lashes  were  still  wet  with  them;  but  her  expression, 
as  her  eyes  met  Loder's,  was  a  strange  example  of  the 
courage,  the  firmness,  the  power  of  sacrifice  that  may 
be  hidden  in  a  fragile  vessel. 

She  said  nothing,  for  in  such  a  moment  words  do 
not  come  easily,  but  with  the  simplest,  most  sub- 
missive, most  eloquent  gesture  in  the  world  she  set 
his  perplexity  to  rest. 

Taking  his  hand  between  hers,  she  lifted  it  and  for  a 
long,  silent  space  held  it  against  her  lips. 


XXXIII 

FOR  a  while  there  was  silence;  then  Loder,  bitterly 
aware  that  he  had  conquered,  poignantly  con- 
scious of  the  appeal  that  Eve's  attitude  made,  found 
further  endurance  impossible.  Gently  freeing  his 
hand,  he  moved  away  from  her  to  the  fireplace,  taking 
up  the  position  that  she  had  first  occupied. 

"Eve,"  he  said,  slowly,  "I  haven't  finished  yet. 
I  haven't  said  everything.  I'm  going  to  tax  your 
courage  further." 

With  a  touch  of  pained  alarm,  Eve  lifted  her  head. 
"Further?"  she  said. 

Loder  shrank  from  the  expression  on  her  face.  "  Yes," 
he  said,  with  difficulty.  "There's  still  another  point 
to  be  faced.  The  matter  doesn't  end  with  my  going 
back.  To  have  the  situation  fully  saved,  Chilcote  must 
return — Chilcote  must  be  brought  to  realize  his  re- 
sponsibilities." 

Eve's  lips  parted  in  dumb  dismay. 

"It  must  be  done,"  he  went  on  hurriedly,  "and  we 
have  got  to  do  it — you  and  I."  He  turned  and  looked 
at  her. 

"I?  I  could  do  nothing.  What  could  I  do ?"  Her 
voice  failed. 

"Everything,"  he  said,  "you  could  do  everything. 
He  is  morally  weak,  but  he  has  one  sensitive  point — 
the  fear  of  a  public  exposure.     Once  make  it  plain  to 

312 


THE    MASQUERADER 

him  that  you  know  his  secret,  and  you  can  compel  him 
to  whatever  course  of  action  you  select.  It  was  to  ask 
you  to  do  this — to  beg  you  to  do  this — that  I  came  to 
you  to-night.  I  know  that  it's  demanding  more  than 
a  woman's  resolution — more  than  a  woman's  strength. 
But  you  are  like  no  woman  in  the  world ! 

"  Eve!"  he  cried,  with  sudden  vehemence,  "  can't  you 
see  that  it's  imperative — the  one  thing  to  save  us  both  ?" 

He  stopped  abruptly  as  he  had  begun,  and  again 
a  painful  silence  filled  the  room.  Then,  as  before,  Eve 
moved  instinctively  towards  him,  but  this  time  her 
steps  were  slow  and  uncertain.  Nearing  his  side,  she 
put  out  her  hand  as  if  for  comfort  and  support;  and, 
feeling  his  fingers  tighten  round  it,  stood  for  a  moment 
resting  in  the  contact. 

"I  understand,"  she  said  at  last,  very  slowly.  "I 
understand.     When  will  you  take  me  to  him  ?" 

For  a  moment  Loder  said  nothing,  not  daring  to 
trust  his  voice;  then  he  answered,  low  and  abruptly. 
"Now!"  he  said.  "Now,  at  once!  Now,  this  mo- 
ment, if  I  may.  And — and  remember  that  I  know 
what  it  costs  you."  As  if  imbued  with  fear  that  his 
courage  might  fail  him,  he  suddenly  released  her  hand, 
and,  crossing  the  room  to  where  a  long,  dark  cloak  lay 
as  she  had  thrown  it  on  her  return  home,  he  picked  it 
up,  walked  to  her  side,  and  silently  wrapped  it  about 
her.  Then,  still  acting  automatically,  he  moved  to 
the  door,  opened  it,  and  stood  aside  while  she  passed 
out  into  the  corridor. 

In  complete  silence  they  descended  the  stairs  and 
passed  to  the  hall  door.     There  Crapham,  who  had 
returned  to  his  duties  since  Loder's  entrance,  came 
quickly  forward  with  an  offer  of  service. 
«  3*3 


THE    MASQUERADER 

But  Loder  dismissed  him  curtly;  and  with  something 
of  the  confusion  bred  of  Chilcote's  regime,  the  man  drew 
back  towards  the  staircase. 

With  a  hasty  movement  Loder  stepped  forward,  and, 
opening  the  door,  admitted  a  breath  of  chill  air.  Then 
on  the  threshold  he  paused.  It  was  his  first  sign  of 
hesitation — the  one  instant  in  which  nature  rebelled 
against  the  conscience  so  tardily  awakened.  He  stood 
motionless  for  a  moment,  and  it  is  doubtful  whether 
even  Eve  fully  fathomed  the  bitterness  of  his  renuncia- 
tion— the  blackness  of  the  night  that  stretched  before 
his  eyes. 

Behind  him  was  everything;  before  him,  nothing. 
The  everything  symbolized  by  the  luxurious  house,  the 
eagerly  attentive  servants,  the  pleasant  atmosphere 
of  responsibility ;  the  nothing  represented  by  the  broad 
public  thoroughfare,  the  passing  figures,  each  un- 
conscious of  and  uninterested  in  his  existence.  As 
an  interloper  he  had  entered  this  house;  as  an  inter- 
loper— a  masquerader — he  had  played  his  part,  live'd 
his  hour,  proved  himself;  as  an  interloper  he  was  now 
passing  back  into  the  dim  world  of  unrealized  hopes 
and  unachieved  ambitions. 

He  stood  rigidly  quiet,  his  strong  figure  silhouetted 
against  the  lighted  hall,  his  face  cold  and  set;  then, 
with  a  touch  of  fatality,  Chance  cut  short  his  struggle. 

An  empty  hansom  wheeled  round  the  corner  of  the 
square;  the  cabman,  seeing  him,  raised  his  whip  in 
query,  and  involuntarily  he  nodded  an  acquiescence. 
A  moment  later  he  had  helped  Eve  into  the  cab. 

"Middle  Temple  Lane!"  he  directed,  pausing  on  the 
step. 

"Middle  Temple  Lane  is  opposite  to  Clifford's  Inn." 

3i4 


THE    MASQUERADER 

he  explained  as  he  took  his  place  beside  her.  "When 
we  get  out  there  we  have  only  to  cross  Fleet  Street." 

Eve  bent  her  head  in  token  that  she  understood,  and 
the  cab  moved  out  into  the  roadway. 

Within  a  few  minutes  the  neighborhood  of  Grosvenor 
Square  was  exchanged  for  the  noisier  and  more  crowded 
one  of  Piccadilly,  but  either  the  cabman  was  over- 
cautious or  the  horse  was  below  the  average,  for  they 
made  but  slow  progress  through  the  more  crowded 
streets.  To  the  two  sitting  in  silence  the  pace  was 
wellnigh  unbearable.  With  every  added  movement 
the  tension  grew.  The  methodical  care  with  which 
they  moved  seemed  like  the  tightening  of  a  string  al- 
ready strained  to  breaking-point,  yet  neither  spoke 
— because  neither  had  the  courage  necessary  for  words. 

Once  or  twice  as  they  traversed  the  Strand,  Loder 
made  a  movement  as  if  to  break  the  silence,  but  noth- 
ing followed  it.  He  continued  to  lean  forward  with  a 
certain  dogged  stiffness,  his  clasped  hands  resting  on 
the  doors  of  the  cab,  his  eyes  staring  straight  ahead. 
Not  once,  as  they  threaded  their  way,  did  he  dare  to 
glance  at  Eve,  though  every  movement,  every  stir 
of  her  garments,  was  forced  upon  his  consciousness  by 
his  acutely  awakened  senses. 

When  at  last  they  drew  up  before  the  dark  archway 
of  Middle  Temple  Lane,  he  descended  hastily.  And 
as  he  mechanically  turned  to  protect  Eve's  dress  from 
the  wheel,  he  looked  at  her  fully  for  the  first  time  since 
their  enterprise  had  been  undertaken.  As  he  looked 
he  felt  his  heart  sink.  He  had  expected  to  see  the 
marks  of  suffering  on  her  face,  but  the  expression  he 
saw  suggested  something  more  than  mere  mental 
pain. 

315 


THE    MASQUERADER 

All  the  rich  color  that  usually  deepened  and  softened 
the  charm  of  her  beauty  had  been  erased  as  if  by  a 
long  illness ;  and  against  the  new  pallor  of  her  skin  her 
blue  eyes,  her  black  hair  and  eyebrows,  seemed  start  - 
lingly  dark.  A  chill  colder  than  remorse,  a  chill  that 
bordered  upon  actual  fear,  touched  Loder  in  that  mo- 
ment. With  the  first  impulsive  gesture  he  had  allowed 
himself,  he  touched  her  arm. 

"Eve — "  he  began,  unsteadily;  then  the  word  died 
off  his  lips. 

Without  a  sound,  almost  without  a  movement,  she 
returned  his  glance,  and  something  in  her  eyes  checked 
what  he  might  have  said.  In  that  one  expressive  look 
he  understood  all  she  had  desired,  all  she  had  re- 
nounced— the  full  extent  of  the  ordeal  she  had  con- 
sented to,  and  the  motive  that  had  compelled  her 
consent.  He  drew  back  with  the  heavy  sense  that 
repentance  and  pity  were  equally  futile — equally  out 
of  place. 

Still  in  silence  she  stepped  to  the  pavement  and 
stood  aside  while  Loder  dismissed  the  cab.  To  both 
there  was  something  symbolic,  something  prophetic, 
in  the  dismissal.  Without  intention  and  almost  un- 
consciously they  drew  closer  together  as  the  horse 
turned,  its  hoofs  clattering  on  the  roadway,  its  harness 
jingling;  and,  still  without  realization,  they  looked 
after  the  vehicle  as  it  moved  away  down  the  long, 
shadowed  thoroughfare  towards  the  lights  and  the 
crowds  that  they  had  left.  At  last  involuntarily  they 
turned  towards  each  other. 

"Come!"  Loder  said,  abruptly.  "It's  only  across 
the  road." 

Fleet  Street  is  generally  very  quiet,  once  midnight 

316 


THE    MASQUERADER 

is  passed;  and  Eve  had  no  need  of  guidance  or  pro- 
tection as  they  crossed  the  pavement,  shining  like  ice 
in  the  lamplight.  They  crossed  it  slowly,  walking 
apart;  for  the  dread  of  physical  contact  that  had 
possessed  them  in  the  cab  seemed  to  have  fallen  on 
them  again. 

Inquisitiveness  has  little  place  in  the  region  of  the 
city,  and  they  gained  the  opposite  footpath  unnoticed 
by  the  casual  passer-by.  Then,  still  holding  apart, 
they  reached  and  entered  Clifford's  Inn. 

Inside  the  entrance  they  paused,  and  Eve  shivered 
involuntarily.  "How  gray  it  is!"  she  said,  faintly. 
"And  how  cold!     Like  a  graveyard." 

Loder  turned  to  her.  For  one  moment  control  seem- 
ed shaken;  his  blood  surged,  his  vision  clouded;  the 
sense  that  life  and  love  were  still  within  his  reach 
filled  him  overwhelmingly.  He  turned  towards  Eve; 
he  half  extended  his  hands.  Then,  stirred  by  what 
impulse,  moved  by  what  instinct.it  was  impossible  to 
say,  he  let  them  drop  to  his  sides  again. 

"Come!"  he  said.  "Come!  This  is  the  way.  Keep 
close  to  me.     Put  your  hand  on  my  arm." 

He  spoke  quietly,  but  his  eyes  were  resolutely  avert- 
ed from  her  face  as  they  crossed  the  dim,  silent  court. 

Entering  the  gloomy  door-way  that  led  to  his  own 
rooms,  he  felt  her  fingers  tremble  on  his  arm,  then 
tighten  in  their  pressure  as  the  bare  passage  and 
cheerless  stairs  met  her  view;  but  he  set  his  lips. 

"Come!"  he  repeated,  in  the  same  strained  voice. 
"Come!     It  isn't  far — three  or  four  flights." 

With  a  white  face  and  a  curious  expression  in  her 
eyes,  Eve  moved  forward.  She  had  released  Loder's 
arm  as  they  crossed  the  hall;  and  now,  reaching  the 

3i7 


THE    MASQUERADER 

stairs,  she  put  out  her  hand  gropingly  and  caught 
the  banister.  She  had  a  pained,  numb  sense  of  sub- 
mission— of  suffering  that  had  sunk  to  apathy.  Mov- 
ing forward  without  resistance,  she  began  to  mount 
the  stairs. 

The  ascent  was  made  in  silence.  Loder  went  first, 
his  shoulders  braced,  his  head  held  erect;  Eve,  me- 
chanically watchful  of  all  his  movements,  followed  a 
step  or  two  behind.  With  weary  monotony  one 
flight  of  stairs  succeeded  another;  each,  to  her  unac- 
customed eyes,  seeming  more  colorless,  more  solitary, 
more  desolate  than  the  preceding  one. 

Then  at  last,  with  a  sinking  sense  of  apprehension, 
she  realized  that  their  goal  was  reached. 

The  knowledge  broke  sharply  through  her  dulled 
senses;  and,  confronted  by  the  closeness  of  her  ordeal, 
she  paused,  her  head  lifted,  her  hand  still  nervously 
grasping  the  banister.  Her  lips  parted  as  if  in  sudden 
demand  for  aid;  but  in  the  nervous  expectation,  the 
pained  apprehension,  of  the  moment  no  sound  escaped 
them.  Loder,  resolutely  crossing  the  landing,  knew 
nothing  of  the  silent  appeal. 

For  a  second  she  stood  hesitating ;  then  her  own  weak- 
ness, her  own  shrinking  dismay,  were  submerged  in 
the  interest  of  his  movements.  Slowly  mounting  the 
remaining  steps,  she  followed  him  as  if  fascinated 
towards  the  door  that  showed  dingily  conspicuous  in 
the  light  of  an  unshaded  gas-jet. 

Almost  at  the  moment  that  she  reached  his  side  he 
extended  his  hand  towards  the  door.  The  action  was 
decisive  and  hurried,  as  though  he  feared  to  trust  him- 
self. 

For  a  space  he  fumbled  with  the  lock.     And  Eve. 

3i8 


THE    MASQUERADER 

standing  close  behind  him,  heard  the  handle  creak 
and  turn  under  his  pressure.     Then  he  shook  the  door. 

At  last,  slowly,  almost  reluctantly,  he  turned  round. 
"I'm  afraid  things  aren't  quite — quite  right,"  he  said, 
in  a  low  voice.  'The  door  is  locked  and  I  can  see  no 
light." 

She  raised  her  eyes  quickly.  "  But  you  have  a  key  ?" 
she  whispered.  "Haven't  you  got  a  key?"  It  was 
obvious  that,  to  both,  the  unexpected  check  to  their 
designs  was  fraught  with  danger. 

"Yes,  but — "  He  looked  towards  the  door.  "Yes — 
I  have  a  key.  Yes,  you're  right!"  he  added,  quickly. 
"I'll  use  it.     Wait,  while  I  go  inside." 

Filled  with  a  new  nervousness,  oppressed  by  the 
loneliness,  the  silence  about  her,  Eve  drew  back  obedi- 
ently. The  sense  of  mystery  conveyed  by  the  closed 
door  weighed  upon  her.  Her  susceptibilities  were 
tensely  alert  as  she  watched  Loder  search  for  his  key 
and  insert  it  in  the  lock.  With  mingled  dread  and 
curiosity  she  saw  the  door  yield,  and  gape  open  like 
a  black  gash  in  the  dingy  wall;  and  with  a  sudden 
sense  of  desertion  she  saw  him  pass  through  the 
aperture  and  heard  him  strike  a  match. 

The  wait  that  followed  seemed  extraordinarily  long. 
Listening  intently,  she  heard  him  move  softly  from 
one  room  to  the  other.  And  at  last,  to  her  acutely 
nervous  susceptibilities,  it  seemed  that  he  paused  in 
absolute  silence.  In  the  intensity  of  listening,  she 
heard  her  own  faint,  irregular  breathing,  and  the  sound 
filled  her  with  panic.  The  quiet,  the  solitude,  the 
vague,  instinctive  apprehension,  became  suddenly  un- 
endurable. Then  all  at  once  the  tension  was  relieved. 
Loder  reappeared. 

3*9 


THE    MASQUERADER 

He  paused  for  a  second  in  the  shadowy  door-way; 
then  he  turned  unsteadily,  drew  the  door  to,  and  locked 
it. 

Eve  steppe'd  forward.  Her  glimpse  of  him  had 
been  momentary — and  she  had  not  heard  his  voice — 
yet  the  consciousness  of  his  bearing  filled  her  with 
instinctive  alarm.  Abruptly,  and  without  reason,  her 
hands  turned  cold,  her  heart  began  to  beat  violently. 
"John — "  she  said  below  her  breath. 

For  answer,  he  moved  towards  her.  His  face  was 
bereft  of  color;  there  was  a  look  of  consternation  in  his 
eyes.  "Come!"  he  said.  "Come  at  once!  I  must 
take  you  home."  He  spoke  in  a  shaken,  uneven 
voice. 

Eve,  looking  up  at  him,  caught  his  hand.  "Why? 
Why  ?"  she  questioned.     Her  tone  was  low  and  scared. 

Without  replying,  he  drew  her  imperatively  towards 
the  stairs.  "Go  very  softly,"  he  commanded.  "No 
one  must  see  you  here." 

In  the  first  moment  she  obeyed  him  instinctively; 
then,  reaching  the  head  of  the  stairs,  she  stopped. 
With  one  hand  still  clasping  his,  the  other  clinging 
nervously  to  the  banister,  she  refused  to  descend. 
"John,"  she  whispered,  "I'm  not  a  child.  What  is  it  ? 
What  has  happened?     I  must  know." 

For  a  moment  Loder  looked  at  her  uncertainly ;  then, 
reading  the  expression  in  her  eyes,  he  yielded  to  her 
demand. 

"  He's  dead,"  he  said,  in  a  very  low  voice.  "  Chilcote 
is  dead," 


XXXIV 

TO  fully  appreciate  a  great  announcement  we  must 
have  time  at  our  disposal.  At  the  moment  of 
Loder's  disclosure  time  was  denied  to  Eve;  for  scarcely 
had  the  words  left  his  lips  before  the  thought  that 
dominated  him  asserted  its  prior  claim.  Blind  to  the 
incredulity  in  her  eyes,  he  drew  her  swiftly  forward, 
and — half  impelling,  half  supporting  her — forced  her 
to  descend  the  stairs. 

Never  in  after-life  could  he  obliterate  the  remem- 
brance of  that  descent.  Fear,  such  as  he  could  never 
experience  in  his  own  concerns,  possessed  him.  One 
desire  overrode  all  others  —  the  desire  that  Eve's 
reputation,  which  he  himself  had  so  nearly  imperilled, 
should  remain  unimperilled.  In  the  shadow  of  that 
urgent  duty,  the  despair  of  the  past  hours,  the  appalling 
fact  so  lately  realized,  the  future  with  its  possible  trials, 
became  dark  to  his  imagination.  In  his  new  victory 
over  self,  the  question  of  her  protection  predominated. 

Moving  under  this  compulsion,  he  guided  her  hastily 
and  silently  down  the  deserted  stairs,  drawing  a  breath 
of  deep  relief  as,  one  after  another,  the  landings  were 
successively  passed ;  and  still  actuated  by  the  suppress- 
ed need  of  haste,  he  passed  through  the  door-way  that 
they  had  entered  under  such  different  conditions  only 
a  few  minutes  before. 

To  leave  the  quiet  court,  to  gain  the  Strand,  to  hail 

321 


THE    MASQUERADER 

a  belated  hansom  was  the  work  of  a  moment.  By  an 
odd  contrivance  of  circumstance,  the  luck  that  had 
attended  every  phase  of  his  dual  life  was  again  exerted 
in  his  behalf.  No  one  had  noticed  their  entry  into 
Clifford's  Inn;  no  one  was  moved  to  curiosity  by  their 
exit.  With  an  involuntary  thrill  of  feeling  he  gave 
expression  to  his  relief. 

"Thank  God,  it's  over!"  he  said,  as  a  cab  drew  up. 
"You  don't  know  what  the  strain  has  been." 

Moving  as  if  in  a  dream,  Eve  stepped  into  the  cab. 
As  yet  the  terrible  denouement  to  their  enterprise 
had  made  no  clear  impression  upon  her  mind.  For  the 
moment  all  that  she  was  conscious  of,  all  that  she  in- 
stinctively acknowledged,  was  the  fact  that  Loder  was 
still  beside  her. 

In  quiet  obedience  she  took  her  place,  drawing  aside 
her  skirts  to  make  room  for  him;  and  in  the  same 
subdued  manner  he  stepped  into  the  vehicle.  Then, 
with  the  strange  sensation  of  re  -  living  their  earlier 
drive,  they  were  aware  of  the  tightened  rein  and  of  the 
horse's  first  forward  movement. 

For  several  seconds  neither  spoke.  Eve,  shutting 
out  all  other  thoughts,  sat  close  to  Loder,  clinging 
tenaciously  to  the  momentary  comforting  sense  of 
protection ;  Loder,  striving  to  marshal  his  ideas,  hesi- 
tated before  the  ordeal  of  speech.  At  last,  realizing 
his  responsibility,  he  turned  to  her  slowly. 

"Eve,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice  and  with  some  hesita- 
tion, "I  want  you  to  know  that  in  all  this — from  the 
moment  I  saw  him — from  the  moment  I  understood — 
I  have  had  you  in  my  thoughts  —  you  and  no  one 
else." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face. 

322 


THE   MASQUERADER 

"Do  you  realize — ?"  he  began  afresh.  "Do  you 
know  what  this — this  thing  means?" 

Still  she  remained  silent. 

"It  means  that  after  to-night  there  will  be  no  such 
person  in  London  as  John  Loder.  To-morrow  the 
man  who  was  known  by  that  name  will  be  found  in 
his  rooms;  his  body  will  be  removed,  and  at  the  post- 
mortem examination  it  will  be  stated  that  he  died  of 
an  overdose  of  morphia.  His  charwoman  will  identify 
him  as  a  solitary  man  who  lived  respectably  for  years 
and  then  suddenly  went  down-hill  with  remarkable 
speed.  It  will  be  quite  a  common  case.  Nothing  of 
interest  will  be  found  in  his  rooms;  no  relation  will 
claim  his  body ;  after  the  usual  time  he  will  be  given 
the  usual  burial  of  his  class.  These  details  are  hor- 
rible; but  there  are  times  when  we  must  look  at  the 
horrible  side  of  life — because  life  is  incomplete  with- 
out it. 

"These  things  I  speak  of  are  the  things  that  will 
meet  the  casual  eye ;  but  in  our  sight  they  will  have  a 
very  different  meaning. 

"Eve,"  he  said,  more  vehemently,  "a  whole  chapter 
in  my  life  has  been  closed  to-night,  and  my  first  in- 
stinct is  to  shut  the  book  and  throw  it  away.  But 
I'm  thinking  of  you.  Remember,  I'm  thinking  of 
you!  Whatever  the  trial,  whatever  the  difficulty,  no 
harm  shall  come  to  you.  You  have  my  word  for 
that! 

"I'll  return  with  you  now  to  Grosvenor  Square;  I'll 
remain  there  till  a  reasonable  excuse  can  be  given  for 
Chilcote's  going  abroad;  I  will  avoid  Fraide,  I  will  cut 
politics — whatever  the  cost ;  then,  at  the  first  reasonable 
moment,  I  will  do  what  I  would  do  now,  to-night  if  it 

323 


THE    MASQUERADER 

were  possible.  I'll  go  away,  start  afresh;  do  in  another 
country  what  I  have  done  in  this." 

There  was  a  long  silence;  then  Eve  turned  to  him. 
The  apathy  of  a  moment  before  had  left  her  face. 
"In  another  country?"  she  repeated.  "In  another 
country?" 

"Yes;  a  fresh  career  in  a  fresh  country.  Some- 
thing clean  to  offer  you.  I'm  not  too  old  to  do  what 
other  men  have  done." 

He  paused,  and  for  a  moment  Eve  looked  ahead  at 
the  gleaming  chain  of  lamps;  then,  still  very  slowly, 
she  brought  her  glance  back  again.  "No,"  she  said 
very  slowly.  "You  are  not  too  old.  But  there  are 
times  when  age — and  things  like  age — are  not  the  real 
consideration.  It  seems  to  me  that  your  own  in- 
clination, your  own  individual  sense  of  right  and 
wrong,  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  present  moment. 
The  question  is  whether  you  are  justified  in  going 
away"  —  she  paused,  her  eyes  fixed  steadily  upon 
his  —  "whether  you  are  free  to  go  away,  and  make 
a  new  life  —  whether  it  is  ever  justifiable  to  follow 
a  phantom  light  when — when  there's  a  lantern  wait- 
ing to  be  carried."  Her  breath  caught;  she  drew 
away  from  him,  frightened  and  elated  by  her  own 
words. 

Loder  turned  to  her  sharply.  "Eve!"  he  exclaimed; 
then  his  tone  changed.  "You  don't  know  what  you're 
saying,"  he  added,  quickly;  "you  don't  understand 
what  you're  saying." 

Eve  leaned  forward  again.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  slowly, 
"I  do  understand."  Her  voice  was  controlled,  her 
manner  convinced.  She  was  no  longer  the  girl  con- 
quered by  strength  greater  than  her  own;  she  was  the 

324 


THE    MASQUERADER 

woman  strenuously  demanding  her  right  to  individual 
happiness. 

"I  understand  it  all,"  she  repeated.  "I  understand 
every  point.  It  was  not  Chance  that  made  you  change 
your  identity,  that  made  you  care  for  me,  that  brought 
about — his  death.  I  don't  believe  it  was  Chance;  I 
believe  it  was  something  much  higher.  You  are  not 
meant  to  go  away!" 

As  Loder  watched  her  the  remembrance  of  his  first 
days  as  Chilcote  rose  again;  the  remembrance  of  how 
he  had  been  dimly  filled  with  the  belief  that  below 
her  self-possession  lay  a  strength — a  depth — uncom- 
mon in  woman.  As  he  studied  her  now,  the  instinctive 
belief  flamed  into  conviction.  "Eve!"  he  said  in- 
voluntarily. 

"With  a  quick  gesture  she  raised  her  head.  "No!" 
she  exclaimed.  "No;  don't  say  anything!  You  are 
going  to  see  things  as  I  see  them — you  must  do  so — 
you  have  no  choice.  No  real  man  ever  casts  away  the 
substance  for  the  shadow!"  Her  eyes  shone — the 
color,  the  glow,  the  vitality,  rushed  back  into  her  face. 

"John,"  she  said,  softly,  "I  love  you — and  I  need 
you — but  there  is  something  with  a  greater  claim — a 
greater  need  than  mine.     Don't  you  know  what  it  is  ?" 

He  said  nothing;  he  made  no  gesture. 

"It  is  the  party — the  country.  You  may  put  love 
aside,  but  duty  is  different.  You  have  pledged  your- 
self.    You  are  not  meant  to  draw  back." 

Loder's  lips  parted. 

"Don't!"  she  said  again.  "Don't  say  anything! 
I  know  all  that  is  in  your  mind.  But,  when  we  sift 
things  right  through,  it  isn't  my  love — or  our  happi- 
ness— that's  really  in  the  balance.     It  is  your  future  1" 

325 


THE    MASQUERADER 

Her  voice  thrilled.  "You  are  going  to  be  a  great  man; 
and  a  great  man  is  the  property  of  his  country.  He 
has  no  right  to  individual  action." 

Again  Loder  made  an  effort  tc  speak,  but  again  she 
checked  him. 

"Wait!"  she  exclaimed.  "Wait!  You  believe  you 
have  acted  wrongly,  and  you  are  desperately  afraid  of 
acting  wrongly  again.  But  is  it  really  truer,  more 
loyal  for  us  t^  work  out  a  long  probation  in  grooves 
that  are  already  overfilled  than  to  marry  quietly  abroad 
and  fill  the  places  that  have  need  of  us  ?  That  is  the 
question  I  want  you  to  answer.  Is  it  really  truer  and 
nobler?  Oh,  I  see  the  doubt  that  is  in  your  mind! 
You  think  it  finer  to  go  away  and  make  a  new  life  than 
to  live  the  life  that  is  waiting  you — because  one  is  in- 
dependent and  the  other  means  the  use  of  another 
man's  name  and  another  man's  money — that  is  the 
thought  in  your  mind.  But  what  is  it  that  prompts 
that  thought?"  Again  her  voice  caught,  but  her 
eyes  did  not  falter.  "I  will  tell  you.  It  is  not  self- 
sacrifice — but  pride!"     She  said  the  word  fearlessly. 

A  flush  crossed  Loder's  face.  "A  man  requires 
pride,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"Yes,  at  the  right  time.  But  is  this  the  right  time ? 
Is  it  ever  right  to  throw  away  the  substance  for  the 
shadow?  You  say  that  I  don't  understand  —  don't 
realize.  I  realize  more  to-night  than  I  have  realized 
in  all  my  life.  I  know  that  you  have  an  opportunity 
that  can  never  come  again  —  and  that  it's  terribly 
possible  to  let  it  slip — " 

She  paused.  Loder,  his  hands  resting  on  the  closed 
doors  of  the  cab,  sat  very  silent,  with  averted  eyes  and 
bent  head. 

S26 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"Only  to-night,"  she  went  on,  "you  told  me  that 
everything  was  crying  to  you  to  take  the  easy,  pleasant 
way.  Then  it  was  strong  to  turn  aside;  but  now  it  is 
not  strong.  It  is  far  nobler  to  fill  an  empty  niche  than 
to  carve  one  for  yourself.  John — "  She  suddenly 
leaned  forward,  laying  her  hands  over  his.  "Mr.  Fraide 
told  me  to-night  that  in  his  new  ministry  my — my  hus- 
band was  to  be  Under  Secretary  for  Foreign  Affairs!" 

The  words  fell  softly.  So  softly  that  to  ears  less 
comprehending  than  Loder's  their  significance  might 
have  been  lost — as  his  rigid  attitude  and  unresponsive 
manner  might  have  conveyed  lack  of  understanding 
to  any  eyes  less  observant  than  Eve's. 

For  a  long  space  there  was  no  word  spoken.  At  last, 
with  a  very  gentle  pressure,  her  fingers  tightened  over 
his  hands. 

"John — "  she  began,  gently.  But  the  word  died 
away.  She  drew  back  into  her  seat,  as  the  cab  stopped 
before  Chilcote's  house. 

Simultaneously  as  they  descended,  the  hall  door 
was  opened  and  a  flood  of  warm  light  poured  out 
reassuringly  into  the  darkness. 

"  I  thought  it  was  your  cab,  sir,"  Crapham  explained 
deferentially  as  they  passed  into  the  hall.  "Mr. 
Fraide  has  been  waiting  to  see  you  this  half-hour.  I 
showed  him  into  the  study."  He  closed  the  door 
softly  and  retired. 

Then,  in  the  warm  light,  amid  the  gravely  dignified 
surroundings  that  had  marked  his  first  entry  into  this 
hazardous  second  existence,  Eve  turned  to  Loder  for 
the  verdict  upon  which  the  future  hung. 

As  she  turned,  his  face  was  still  hidden  from  her, 
and  his  attitude  betrayed  nothing. 

327 


THE    MASQUERADER 

"John,"  she  said,  slowly,  "you  know  why  he  is  here. 
You  know  that  he  has  come  to  personally  offer  you 
this  place;  to  personally  receive  your  refusal  —  or 
consent." 

She  ceased  to  speak;  there  was  a  moment  of  suspense; 
then  Loder  turned.  His  face  was  still  pale  and  grave 
with  the  gravity  of  a  man  who  has  but  recently  been 
close  to  death,  but  beneath  the  gravity  was  another 
look — the  old  expression  of  strength  and  self-reliance, 
tempered,  raised,  and  dignified  by  a  new  humility. 

Moving  forward,  he  held  out  his  hands. 

"My  consent  or  refusal,"  he  said,  very  quietly,  "lies 
with — my  wife." 


THB    END 


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UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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